


Sail Through the Changin’ Ocean Tides

by yhk



Series: Landslide [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Gen, Homophobia, Kent Parson Gets Therapy, Las Vegas Aces, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Kent "Parse" Parson, PTSD, San Francisco, anger issues, lots of cussing, trigger warning: self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yhk/pseuds/yhk
Summary: “Parse?” Jeff breathed. “Kent, what happened?”Kent looked up, eyes dead. His voice creaked as he dully answered, “The Aces don’t want me anymore because I’m gay. Jeff, the NHL’s kicking me out of hockey.”***Or, what happens if Kent had a strong group of friends, a great therapist and the ability to let go and grow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- TRIGGER WARNING: Brief Depiction of Self-Harm (Walking through broken glass, punching objects with fist). Please don't read if that will trigger you.  
> \- Written in Kent Parson's POV; some negativity with Jack Zimmermann and the Zimmermanns  
> \- Blatant Homophobia  
> \- No Beta; all errors are mine  
> \- I know nothing about hockey; I apologize for the silly mistakes  
> \- This is my very first story I've ever written; please be gentle in comments  
> \- There are three parts to this story, which are all completed and waiting to be edited. I'll try and post every 2-3 days, depending on my real life schedule.  
> \- I've read so many Check! Please stories here on Ao3; while I've tried to keep this as original as possible, if I inadvertently copied someone else's idea, please let me know and I'll try and change/edit that part.

All characters are owned by Ngozi Ukazu, the creator of the webcomic OMG Check, Please! I am not making any money from this.

 

 

 

 Landslide

 

 _I took my love, I took it down_  
Climbed a mountain and I turned around  
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills  
'Til the landslide brought me down

 _Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?_  
Can the child within my heart rise above?  
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?  
Can I handle the seasons of my life?  
Mmm

 _Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'_  
'Cause I've built my life around you  
But time makes you bolder  
Even children get older  
And I'm gettin' older, too

 _Ah, take my love, take it down_  
Oh, climb a mountain and turn around  
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills  
Well, the landslide will bring it down  
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills  
Well, the landslide will bring it down  
Oh, the landslide will bring it down

 

  * Fleetwood Mac



 

 

 

Kent Parson slowly opened his front door, as the evening sun had long since disappeared and the coolness of the night enveloped the scorching heat from just a short while ago. He closed the door behind him as he entered his house, muscle memory taking over as he dropped his keys in the catch-all bowl resting on top of the table next to the entrance.

He slipped his sneakers off one-by-one, and from habit walked to the dark kitchen to take out bottled water in the fridge. As he grasped the bottle, the shock of the cold shook him out of the fog he had found himself in for the past couple of hours. “Fuck,” he whispered in the dark. “Fuck,” he stated, louder. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!” as he grew in volume, crying out and throwing his unopened bottle, hard, against the wall, causing an explosion of water splattering about everywhere.

“FUCK!” he screamed, a litany repeated over and over until his legs collapsed, curled up in a ball with his arms over his head. He could feel the solid steel in his spine dissolving; and he grasped for the stubbornness and determination he always had in his body that sustained him these long years. He eventually felt himself standing viciously, opening his cabinets, flinging his mugs, glasses, plates, bowls, utensils, all onto the floor, vaguely hearing the cacophony as they created a crude stew of broken shards of glass and ceramic spilled on the ground.

When his hands finally felt emptiness in his cupboards, he only distantly felt the sharp cuts as he trudged, slowly, to the living room through the mess of the shattered remains on the ground, gazing, mesmerized, at the walls, proudly displaying his hard-won trophies, his framed jerseys of Rimouski and the Olympics, and other now-empty representations of his hockey achievements. _After giving them my life for the past seven years, this is all I have left – bits of painted plastic and cheap pieces of cloth._ Suddenly, that rage, simmering underneath his blank shock, propelled him as he screamed again his incoherent anger and grabbed the jersey closest to him to throw it across the room, and then as he reached for the other, and then the trophy on its shelf as he pelted his TV with it --

After his talk with his agent earlier that evening, he realized that he was nothing, now. He sobbed amidst his fury. _What am I without hockey? Nothing. I’m nothing without hockey._

 

 

 

Jeffrey “Swoops” Troy had promised to drop by Parser’s house to return a book Kent loaned him. At the same time, he wanted to check up on Parse; he was concerned about his best friend, especially after the fall-out from Jack Zimmermann’s public kiss. Even though Parson kept insisting he was “cool and all”, he certainly wasn’t fine when he saw the video of Zimmermann kissing that Parson-lookalike ( _Zimmermann sure has a type_ , Jeff thought). Worse, the almost-forgotten gossip of Parse’s and Zimmermann’s pre-draft relationship came back with a vengeance, at least amongst the Aces team; as a result, he, Scraps, Brainer and Pinky became the unofficial Parson Brigade, making sure Kent was always with one of them whenever he was at a team event. Good thing, too; the four or five teammates who were always assholes made sure to give side-eyes, homophobic comments and the harder-than-it-should-be shoulder bumps at Kent (always accompanied by “Sorry, bro!” when they looked way too pleased from Parson’s pained grunts and grimaces). _Fucking assholes,_ Jeff thought. _If it weren’t for Parser, we never would have won the fucking Cup twice. Dickheads._

Jeff was running later than usual; he was on an honest-to-god date with Jenn, his girlfriend, before he drove over to Parson’s place. When he finally arrived at Kent’s dark house, he discovered the door unlocked. He flipped the light switches on as he walked to the kitchen. “Oh, shit,” he gasped, looking at the mess of broken kitchenware all over the floor. “Hey Parse, it’s me, Swoops. Where are you?” he called out, while he slowly walked to the living room when he saw slightly bloody smudges on the ground – _shit, were those footprints?_ \-- leading there.

When he arrived at the living room, he saw the trophies, the framed jerseys, the other wall decorations scattered about. The room was thrashed and the TV looked like someone threw a rock at the screen. “Parser! Parse!”, Jeff hollered, getting increasingly worried. When he didn’t hear Parson respond, he walked to his bedroom and didn’t see anyone but his cat in the middle of the bed, clean and undisturbed. He went to the guest room, which was empty and pristine as well. Maybe Kent was in the hall bathroom?... The door was partly closed, with more bloody streaks on the ground leading to it and when he fully opened it, he could hear heavy breathing. He turned on the light, and saw Kent in the bathtub, with blood on the floor, the curtain and its rod flung on the ground, and the mirror destroyed. Kent was sitting at one end, curled up, tucking his head onto his knees and covering his face with his arms, unnaturally still. “Parse?” Jeff breathed. “Kent, what happened?”

Kent looked up, eyes dead. His voice creaked as he dully answered, “The Aces don’t want me anymore because I’m gay. Jeff, the NHL’s kicking me out of hockey.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent talks to his hockey bros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, for the kudos! It's encouraging to see. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. :)

Kent could feel himself waking up slowly. He could smell sweat on his pillow, and he felt pretty grimy. _What happened?_ As he became more conscious, he became aware of someone spooning him from behind, as there was an arm wrapped around his waist. He feet hurt like hell, and his fists stung, too. He wondered, _Did I get drunk last night? What the hell happened?_ Then he remembered – the water bottle – the hockey jerseys – Jeff helping him into bed from the bathroom -- and he became fully conscious, abruptly. He gasped, and sat up. Or tried to. The arm around his waist tightened, and he heard, “No, one more minute, I’m fuckin’ tired.” Jeff. What the hell was he still doing here? And spooning?

“Swoops. Let me go.”

Jeff woke up suddenly, and loosened his arm. “Shit. Sorry, Parse, uh, I was up late cleaning up the broken glass and shit and when I checked up on you, you kept whimpering when you were sleeping and you grabbed me and you wouldn’t let me leave and uh, we ended up spooning,” he rambled quickly, finishing sheepishly.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” Kent growled. “Why didn’t you just leave after I went to bed?”

“Dude, you think I was going to leave you alone after the fucking mess in your house last night?” Jeff snapped. In a softer voice, he continued, “What the fuck happened? I came by last night to return that book you loaned me, but when I got here, your kitchen, living room and bathroom were trashed and you... you, man, you were not okay.”

Kent sat up and tried to stand up. Tried being the operative word. The faint pain in his feet felt like knives when he put pressure on them. “Shit. Shit. What the hell?” as he collapsed back onto his bed.

“Uh, yeah, your feet; dude, you walked through broken glass and shit. They’re cut up to hell. I’m surprised they didn’t hurt when I helped you to bed last night. Your hands look okay, though, just scrapes on your knuckles,” Jeff continued, quietly. “Kent, there was a lot of broken glass and shit on the ground, and it looks like you punched out your mirrors and TV. I tried to clean as much as I could, but you’ll need to replace some of your things.”

He paused before asking, hesitantly, “Um, Kent, what the hell did you mean you’re out of the NHL? What the fuck happened?”

There was silence, quiet enough so that Kent could hear his heart beating, wondering why it hurt to feel it working so hard.

Kent dropped his head as he sighed. “Swoops, you should probably get the other guys here, Scraps and Brains and Pinky. Don’t think I didn’t notice you fuckers, making sure I was all right from Carl and those assholes,” he smirked a little. Parson softened as he continued, “Thanks for that, man. I do appreciate that.”

He took another breath. “Anyway, you should probably ask your girl Jenn to stop by as well, I know she’ll want to hear directly from me. I’ll tell you what happened when you’re all here, but the short answer is that the fucking Zimmermann kiss outed _me_ as well. The Aces don’t want me because I’m fucking gay. None of the other teams want me because the Falconers are going downhill, losing ticket sales and sponsors and shit already. The NHL wants me gone because they’re afraid that when the public finds out about me being queer, another team will go downhill. The goddamned fuckers. I got them the Stanley Cup twice, the goddamned homophobic fuckers,” as his vitriol rose, anger flooding his body.

 

 

 

Jeff, Jenn, Scraps, Brian “Brainer” Davies, and Aaron “Pinky” Goldberg were sitting in the living room. After Jenn looked and cleaned his feet _(Motherfucker, that hurt_ ), they all looked at Parson, expectant, as he was sprawled on a reclining chair with a Gatorade in hand, feet propped up to keep them from brushing against the ground. Kit took off when the guys arrived, freaked out about the noise and the ruckus so he didn’t have anything to do with his hands. After he started playing with the label of his drink instead, he started.

“Um, so, guys, thanks for coming over. So first thing: uh, Jeff and Jenn already know this, but the rest of you guys don’t know. So, um, anyway, I’m gay.” He braced himself, getting ready for… rejection?... disgust?... he didn’t know.

What he didn’t expect was Scraps snorting and replying, “No shit, Sherlock.” Brainer whacked him on the arm and said, “Hey, Parse is opening himself up, none of that crap.” However, Pinky’s reaction shocked Kent the most, when he hollered over Brainer and Scraps’ chirping,

“Uh, thanks man, for trusting us with that, uh, it’s an honor. Parse, uh, I just want to let you know that I have your back, bro, no matter what. I, uh, accept you for who you are and always will.” He paused as everyone else’s jaws hit the floor at Pinky’s rather uncharacteristic tact. He added, more quietly, “Um, I have an older brother who’s queer and he told me what to say if anyone came out to me. Uh, anyway, I don’t care if you like to fuck dicks more than pussies. I’m here for you, okay? You know that, right?” he continued earnestly.

Jenn glared at Pinky. “Aaron, what the hell? ‘Fuck dicks’? ‘Pussies’? Christ, what the hell’s wrong with you?” she sputtered.

Pinky looked baffled. “But it’s true, Parse would rather have dick than pussy, right? What’s wrong with saying it that way?” turning to Brainer, confused.

Brian sighed and smacked the back of his head half-heartedly. “Aaron, we’ll talk about it later, but just apologize to Jenn.”

The continued brouhaha eased the tension in the room, as well as Kent’s shoulders. _Huh. I completely underestimated them. Thank god I was wrong. Wait. How’d they already know?_

“Uh, Pinky, guys, thanks for your support, but how the hell did you guys know I’m gay?” he demanded.

Scraps replied, “Well duh, you’ve always been weird about Zimmermann. You’d never talk about him; and whenever someone mentioned him you’d either leave the room or change the subject. After he came out, it’s pretty obvious something happened between the two of you, man. Plus, you never dated in the past three years we’ve played together, and you never picked up at clubs. It wasn’t hard for me to figure out.”

Pinky added, “Well, I got it because you never checked out any of the chicks at the bars and you never had dates. And uh, you’re Kent Parson – all the hot babes want you, but you, uh, never seemed interested. That’s how I figured you’re not straight.”

“And I saw you when you came back from that party from Zimmermann’s college that night. You were pretty emotionally devastated, Parse, and I figured that you two were a helluva lot closer than being just close, platonic friends and that other heteronormative bullshit,” added Brainer.

Pinky interrupted. “You and Zimmermann were a thing before the draft?”

Kent sighed. “Yes, we were, but you guys _cannot_ tell anyone else. It’s in the past and I want to keep it there, and it’s no one’s goddamned business.”

Jenn started yelling about Pinky objectifying women with sexist language, while Jeff chirped Brains about using big words (“Shit, Brains, you’re such a fucking _intellectual,_ Mr. Physics Degree”) and Scraps asking if anyone could tell him what “heteronormative” meant. Kent smiled a little. _I’m such a dick. I completely underestimated my bros. Of course they were going to fine, I should have had more trust in them._

“Okay guys,” he interrupted. As they quieted, Kent spoke. “Because of Zimmermann coming out of the closet, and those rumors from us back in the Q, management figured out that I’m not straight. Hell, fucking Carl figured it out, based on how much more of a homophobic dickhead he’s become since Zimmermann’s goddamned kiss.”

 “Anyway,” he said, “I met up with my agent yesterday. You guys know him, Julian. He’s been asking around, finding out shit, what’s been going on these past couple of weeks. Because he’s always been right in the past, and he's had my best interests at heart, I trust him.”

He added, “So, you guys all know that my contract was ending this season, and I was expecting a renewal with the Aces as well as a raise at the very least. Shit, I went in thinking that I could negotiate a bonus and a no trade clause. Fuck, shows what I know.”

He cracked open the Gatorade and took a swig. After he swallowed, he continued. “What I did get was a one-year renewal with an option for them to trade me at any time, a more restrictive morality clause, and about 10% of what I earned from my past contract. Hell, it was less than when I was a rookie. It was a fucking joke. And I need to give up my C, never mind all the shit I’ve done for the team.”

He continued over the interruptions of “What the hell?” “They can’t do that!” “That’s fucked up!”

“But even if they offered more money, even if they let me keep my C, the morality clause – fuck. Basically, the only way I can play for the Aces is if I get a beard. They want me to date a girl so I can be their perfect heterosexual hockey player to the public. They also added that I can’t go to any place that serves alcohol unless it’s with upper management’s approval, which means that they expect me to stay home and only go out during their fucking PR events with the perfect woman on my arm.”

“Holy shit,” Scraps breathed out. “Holy shit, can they do that? Is it even _legal_?”

Parson responded, “Yeah. When Julian got the offer, he immediately got my law team on it, and it’s all fucking legit.”

Brainer incredulously asked, “Basically, the Aces don’t want you because you’re gay? That doesn’t make sense, especially because you’re one of the best hockey players right now and you’ve already proved that your sexuality doesn’t affect your ability to play.”

Kent sighed. “Brian, it’s not that simple. Jack Zimmermann screwed up. He not only came out without warning the Falconers that he was going to make out with his boyfriend at the Cup final win, he’s not playing the league song-and-dance game. Julian told me that right after his Cup day, he took off with his boy to France so he’s unavailable to the franchise this summer; their PR is livid.”

He took another drink before continuing, “Meanwhile, the franchise is losing money, fast. Their season tickets are way lower than they should be for next season, especially since they just won the fucking Cup; merch stopped selling, especially the Zimmermann crap; sponsors are leaving them high and dry.”

He finished his Gatorade and placed the empty bottle on the floor. “Their team’s falling apart over this, pissed because their win’s being overshadowed by Zimmerman’s coming out. Jack himself seems to have forgotten that the whole team won the Cup and that it wasn’t just him, because he took the fucking Cup without the fucking Keeper, which seriously pissed off the league. Anyway, he took the Cup to his apartment the night of the win and celebrated with it with his old college buddies, and only a few of his Falconers friends were invited over, but not the whole goddamned team.”

Again, over the loud outraged cursing, he raised his voice, “Then, he took charge of the Cup presser, apparently ignoring their Assistant GM and the more senior, experienced members of the team; we all know what a clusterfuck that ended up being,” Parson added, rolling his eyes. He added, “At least a quarter of the Falconers, most of them league vets, requested a trade since their win. They know that Zimmermann just put targets on their backs for the upcoming season for even being linked to him in any way. That, and I’m guessing at least a couple are homophobes, or Zimmermann pissed them off so much with how he dealt with this whole shit, and how he’s left them high and dry this summer.”

Brainer broke the shocked silence following Kent’s diatribe and asked, “The homophobes are pissed at the Falconers, but what about the LGBT+ crowd? You’d think they’d support them, especially since Zimmermann’s the first out NHL player, right? Hell, even I saw that photo of Zimmermann with the Pride Flag; that photo turned viral pretty quickly.”

Parson responded, “But that was it.”

“Huh?” Pinky asked.

“That was it,” Kent repeated patiently. “Zimmermann didn’t do anything else. He apparently ignored the opportunity to give an inspiring, inclusive statement that matched what their PR had released before the Cup presser, and instead gave that fucking lame off-the-cuff ‘Hockey’s fun, don’t be afraid, I guess’ shitty one-liner, which made him and the Falconers look like dumbasses. Hell, Alexei Mashkov gave a better statement, but now there’s rumors that his fucking family currently living in Russia might be in trouble because of Putin’s current hard anti-gay stance.”

He sighed gustily. “Outside of the presser and that photo, he didn’t make any other press statements, nor posted anything else for the Falconers. “You Can Play” is super pissed off, because Zimmermann blew them off completely. Hell, Zimmermann only did one interview before he took off for Europe; that was to his shitty college newspaper, which was only about some fire at their frat house the night of his Cup day.” 

Jeff, shocked, said, “What the hell. That’s _all_ he did? Fucking seriously? Holy shit, no wonder the Falconers are massively pissed at him.”

Pinky sputtered, “But -- but that’s just Zimmermann! That’s not you! We all know that you’d do anything for the Aces, so they shouldn’t kick you out because of that asshole!”

Brian quietly added, “You can always stay in the closet for the public. While the Aces probably figured out that you’re at least bi, you don’t have to deal with coming out publicly so you can avoid this clusterfuck.” He shrugged apologetically, “It’s not ideal, but it’s an option.”

Parson gravely replied, “But Zimmermann set the precedent for coming out, at least in the minds of the other teams in the NHL. The Aces, hell, the league – no one wants a repeat of this shit so soon, and even if I decide to stay in the closet, they think I’m too much of a risk. Even if I decided to come out, it doesn’t matter if I agree to signing a contract that states that I’ll do all the fucking “You Can Play” shit and read their approved press releases and interviews and crap, it doesn’t matter. Zimmermann’s crashed and burned so hard that they don’t want to risk it a repeat, no matter if I stay in or out of the closet, no matter what I say, and no matter how well I play.” He stopped talking.

He felt so tired, so old, and so goddamned angry. He rubbed his eyes to ignore the fucking tears that started as he finally murmured, “And Julian said that the other teams are afraid that the Zimmermann shitstorm will happen to them if they get me on their team, so there won’t be other offers. In other words, if I don’t accept the Aces contract, I’m out of the NHL.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets a therapist and retires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, more kudos! Thank you so much! I wasn't too sure if people would read this, so I'm happy that you all are enjoying it. :)

“That’s fucked up.” Brian stated, breaking the silence after Kent was done.

“Well yeah, no shit,” Scraps retorted.

“So what can we do?” asked Aaron.

Jenn groaned. “Honestly, it sounds like there’s not much we can do. We could try to get the public to side with Kent by going to the media, but that’ll definitely affect your hockey careers; I can’t imagine that the Aces nor the NHL would be pleased with you guys. At the same time, I’m guessing the typical hockey fan is white, male, conservative and heterosexual – not really a demographic that’s sided with LGBT+ issues; so even if we’d publicize this shit, the people giving their money to the Aces would probably applaud the franchise’s efforts to kick Parse out.”

“But fuck, it’s wrong! It’s fucking wrong that someone can’t play professionally just because they’re gay!  It’s so fucking wrong that they’re doing this to Parse! We can’t just do nothing! We all said we have Parse’s back, and if we don’t do a goddamn thing, it’s like we’re agreeing to their decision!” Pinky exploded.  

Amongst the “Hell yeah!”s and “You’re goddamned right!”, Kent bellowed above them.

“Hold it, hold it, you bastards,” he interrupted. He continued as they turned their heads to listen, “Look, Jenn’s right.”

As Scraps interrupted, “But we have to do something!” Kent raised his voice and said, “No. _No_. She’s right, and we all know it.”

_I am so goddamned exhausted,_ he thought as they stared at him. “Look,” he sighed, “You all are fucking awesome. I saw how you were all looking out for me for the past couple of weeks. And you accepted me easily, even though I’m gay – Pinky, your brother’s right, that’s exactly the right thing to say to someone when they come out to you, thank you – and you bastards, you crazy bastards – yeah, I know you have my back and Christ, you all are the best bros that I’m thankful I know.”

Again, his eyes filled with tears as his voice cracked at the last word. He ignored the lump in his throat as he them in the eye and continued, “But, I will not have you sabotage your careers for me. That’s bullshit. The Aces, the NHL – they’re not ready for a gay player. We all know that, especially now. Maybe Zimmermann will make it easier for someone to come out in the future, we can hope. In the meantime, we need supportive straight players, like you guys, within the league to keep the closeted gay players safe from assholes like fucking Carl. So please, _please_ , don’t do anything that can ruin your careers, please. Just keep the Aces safe for anyone else who may be in the closet. I mean, statistically, there are other gay players in the NHL, right. Um, okay?” he faltered. He looked down, picking at the scabs already forming on his knuckles.

After a minute or so of silence, he looked up. He was surprised to see Pinky with tears in his eyes. Jenn was openly crying, and Brainer, head down, clenched his hands. Scraps stared at a point on the blank wall away from him; while Jeff, with his arm comfortingly around Jenn, looked at Kent, lips thinned.

Swoops finally spit out, “Fuck, Parse. Fuck. You have a good point, but I'm still pissed off. This isn't fucking fair. Goddamnit," as he looked pained. "This is why we have your back. This is why you were such a good goddamned captain. How the hell can you be so goddamned selfless? You're still fucking looking out for us. You're still looking out for others before looking out for yourself, you bastard.”

Pinky broke the pause by stumbling over to Kent as he cried out, “Goddamnit, Parse! Fuck, I need to give you a hug! Shit!” The rest started laughing as Jenn wiped her tears away. However, Jeff didn’t break his gaze away from Kent. Swoops only nodded his head and smiled a little, but he still didn’t look very happy.

 

 

 

A couple of days later, Jenn approached therapy to Kent. As she sat on the ground, rewrapping his feet after replacing the bandages, she asked, “Kent sweetie, we all love you very much, and we will be here for you no matter what, you know that. At the same time, you’ve just gone through a helluva lot of crap in the past couple of days, more than most people have in all their lives. Honestly, I believe you should see a therapist to help sort this out for yourself. What do you think?”

After mulling over her words, he replied, “I feel weird going to a stranger and telling them all this shit.” He paused, thinking before adding, “I know you’re right though. Hey, how about you? Would you be my therapist?” he asked hopefully.  _I'm already comfortable with her, and I know I can trust her with everything._

Jenn beamed as she answered, “I’m very flattered -- thank you! -- but my training is in Child Psych, so I’m not really qualified to help you. Plus, even if I were, I’m too biased and emotionally involved. My perspective would be skewed, and frankly, I feel like I’d hurt more than help you,” as she grinned and finished with his feet. She continued as she rested on her heels, “I have a couple of names of excellent therapists. I worked with some of them, and the others got multiple client recommendations at the hospital and crisis center I volunteered at. I know they’re all well-qualified, and at least one of them will work for you. So please, try, Kent? I love you, and you deserve everything, including getting as much help as you need and want.” She looked up, her eyes a little watery. “I hate seeing you in so much pain, and I want so much for you to be happy. Please?”

“…Okay. I will.” _It can’t hurt, anyway. And if it sucks, I can always stop it. Besides – I know Jenn and the bros really are worried,_ he thought.

“Thank you so much. I love you.” _She really does, doesn’t she?_ he mused.

“I love you, too.” _Yeah, I really do._

 

 

 

Aparna, one of the therapists Jenn recommended, was awesome. Even though Kent was, at first, a little reluctant in the first session, he liked her no-nonsense but gentle approach, as well as her calm presence.

And Jenn was right. Even though it was the current crisis that got him to see Aparna, they very quickly started going back to other issues he didn’t realize was still a big deal. His parents, for one: his bastard father who left him when he was young, and only got in touch with Kent after he turned pro to sponge money; and his homophobic mother, who, while supporting his hockey dreams, working a couple of jobs to pay for the fees and the gear while growing up, disowned him out when she found out he was gay. ( _Thank god I came out to her after I joined the Aces, and not when I was a teen with no money_.)

They also talked a little about Jack. Zimms, and that whole fucking mess.

The sessions were difficult, and she suggested that he have three sessions a week for at least a month or so before cutting their frequency. She suggested that he had PTSD from finding Zimms almost dead in the bathroom; and she wanted to make sure the whole “getting kicked out of hockey” crap wasn’t going to be a trigger for more self-destructive behavior again.

Kent did felt moronic and ashamed for destroying most of his house. When Swoops and Brainer came over the other day, walking through the rooms while matter-of-factly ordering replacements and not making it a big deal, Kent was horribly embarrassed; he ended up hiding in his bedroom while they were there, using his feet as an excuse, cuddling with Kit. It fooled no one, but neither Brian nor Jeff called him out on it, and Swoops closed his bedroom door, smiling sadly at Parse.

 

 

 

It had been two weeks since Julian told Kent about the contract. Kent had been doing as well as he could, waiting for his feet to heal. He had continual company whenever he was awake, whether it was Jenn cuddling with him and commenting on trash TV, or Jeff, Swoops, Brian or Aaron (or sometimes all of them at the same time) taking over his console and playing Call of Duty or some other game, trash talking each other. Even Kit cuddled with him during the rare times that he was alone. He also talked with Aparna a lot ( _she did Skype sessions and house visits, thank god, since I can’t really walk comfortably yet_ ); after each session, he’d be emotionally spent, blanking out, or extremely thoughtful, absorbing what was said. The night after he called Julian, and then his PR agent about his choice to retire, he rested his head on Jenn’s shoulder while Jeff sat on his other side, nudging him periodically with his knee while watching that shit Transformers movie on TV.

“Hey Kentster, I have a question…” Jenn started.

“And I have an answer,” he retorted while Jeff muttered “Wise ass” under his breath.

“Really? No, seriously, if you could go to any place, where would you go?” she asked.

“Why?” he asked wearily. _Not another hare-brained scheme. I love Jenn, but sometimes her ideas are wacky._

“Because I think we should all take a trip soon and just go. Or at least you can go with Jeff and Swoops and Brainer and Pinky, since my new job at the teen shelter starts in a couple of weeks. Oooh, oooh, it can be a belated birthday trip!”, his birthday having been a couple of days ago.

“Um… Uh, I don’t know?” Kent replied, bewildered.

“Well, think about it, and Jeff will pay for it (‘What? I never agreed to this!’), and we’ll all go to some place and have a fabulous time. Whaddya think?” she enthused. Kent saw Jeff roll his eyes at him good-naturedly; Jenn tended to get overly excited when she came up with one of her “genius” ideas. 

“Uh, okay. I’ll let you know,” he absently said as he grabbed a handful of popcorn to throw at his TV. _Man, what a dumb movie._

 

 

 

Kent decided to announce his retirement in the middle of July. He decided to forego a press conference; instead, he had his PR agent, Shannon, email a PR release to look over. He just had to okay the statement, and she was going to send it to the major news outlets. For the past couple of weeks, Shannon, Julian and his lawyer, Liz, were extremely helpful with the whole process, liaising between himself and the Aces and his sponsors so that he didn’t have to meet any of the franchise’s management.

He read through the press release while nestled in his comfy chair. The whole gang had come over, hanging out as he looked over the statement on his phone: Jenn watched TV next to Jeff on the couch while Scraps, Brainer and Pinky were sprawled about the living room floor, picking through the leftovers of the fuck-ton of Chinese takeout Scraps brought over.

As Jenn and Pinky yelled at some poor contestant in the Great British Baking Show, and Brian quietly laughed at them, and Scraps and Jeff rolled their eyes at them, Kent okayed the succinct statement Sarah wrote.

He squared his shoulders. He got on his Twitter account through his phone. As he sat with his guys, raucous and loud and comforting and warm, he took deep breaths counting, inside his head, until his heart stopped its stupid racing and slowed down to its normal beat. When it finally did, Kent tweeted:

_Retiring from the Las Vegas Aces and the NHL. Many thanks to my loyal fans for the tremendous support throughout my career!_

He turned off his phone for the rest of the night and watched TV with the rest of them, laughing so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks.

And so, one of the greatest hockey players of his time, quietly, softly left the NHL.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent takes the advice of Jenn and Swoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be gone for the next couple of days, but I'll try to post another chapter tonight.

 

Kent was bored.

_I’m boorrrreedd,_ he texted to the group chat. (Jeff named it “Parson Pals”, to Pinky’s delight and Kent’s dismay.)

September had just begun. Aparna’s sessions had been cut down to twice a week, and he daily texted Jenn and the other guys. While one of them tried to come over every day, it became increasingly difficult as the Aces’ pre-season began and Jenn worked full-time at her job with the teen shelter.

Kent’s feet had long healed, and he finished his workout in his home gym. He made chocolate chip cookies (he decided that he should probably learn how to cook more than just eggs and protein shakes), saving most of them for when he got his nightly visitor, whether a bro or Jenn. He wrote in his journal. (Aparna suggested that he have a venue to write out his thoughts and feelings, to help sort out his emotions and have another option when he feels overwhelmed.) He wandered around his house. He picked up random tchotchkes. He gently put them back down. ( _I have a lot of crap. Why the hell do I have so much stuff?_ ) He tried to play with Kit, before she swatted at him and climbed up the top of his bookcase, nestling down to sleep. He finally heard the alert for an incoming message on his phone.

_Then get out of your house. Hey, we can meet up and watch a movie or something after practice today_ responded Scraps.

Kent sighed. He had become more reclusive and he knew the others were getting worried. Aparna suggested ( _I love her, I really do, but her “suggestions” are “commands”_ ) that he leave his house, maybe establish a routine with an activity that was not at his house. Maybe work out at a local gym?, she proposed. He _had_ tried to go out once, but when he saw the fucking Escalade he impulsively bought to drive the younger Rookies around, parked forlornly in his driveway, he thought, _I’ll never need that fucking beast now,_ turned right back into his house and holed up in his room for the rest of the day.

_Nah, never mind, I’m fine,_ texted Kent back to Scraps.

 

 

 

Brainer and Jeff came over that night. _Oh, no, they’re going to pull some “tough love” shit_ , Kent internally moaned as they camped out with pizza in his living room.

“Parse,” Jeff began after they finished eating. “When was the last time you left your house?”

“Uh, this morning when I went for a run. And then I checked my mail. And I swam for a bit in my pool. And read. And did other crap. Why, do you also want to know when I took a dump? Christ, Swoops, you’re not my keeper,” Kent snapped, irked.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Brian calmed, hands up. “He’s asking you because he’s concerned. We’re all worried. Christ, Kent,” Brainer’s voice softening, “We know you’re fucking strong, especially with how well you’ve weathered the past couple of months. So don’t get so defensive, you’re our bro and we’re just looking out for you.”

“Then what’s this intervention all about?” Kent asked, a little less irritated.

Jeff spoke up bluntly. “You’re becoming a hermit. I don’t know, nor is it my business, how things are going with your therapist, but you may want to at least address with her why you won’t go out. And no, running in the neighborhood doesn’t count.”

Brian elaborated, “The concern is more that you’re isolating yourself socially. Sure, you text a lot, but other than at your house, we haven’t seen you. None of us have a problem coming over your place at all, so don’t get me wrong, but you haven’t really gone out. Personally, it’s getting me worried that it’s going to turn into a more serious issue for you if we don’t say anything to you about it.”

Jeff interjected, “Just think about it, Parse. You don’t have to tell us anything, but just think about going over it with your therapist, at least?”

Kent rubbed his face, sighing as his defensive shoulders relaxed. “Okay. Okay. You deserve to know why, especially since you’ve been dragging your carcasses here a lot. I just don’t… I don’t know, it seems that every place reminds me of the Aces. It reminds me of hockey. Fuck, I don’t even like Las Vegas, but it was my home for the past seven years; and my brain just connects the city with hockey. And honestly, I don’t want to think about it. Christ, even the fucking Escalade reminded me of the rookies and how I’d drive their drunk asses back to their homes. It just fucking sucks. It just… sucks.”

In the silence that followed, Brainer shot out, “Sell the fucking car.”

“Huh?” Kent answered.

“Sell the mom-mobile. Start making new memories. You know Swoops, Scraps, Pinky and me through the Aces, but you don’t have a problem with us, right? What that means is that you need to make new associations with places in Vegas.”

“Or hell,” Jeff interrupted. “If this city’s too much to deal with right now, then we take a vacation somewhere, visit a place you’ve never been, get away from here for a little bit, until you’re ready to come back and make different memories. Even though we can’t go right now, we can arrange something for our Bye Week or take a three-day break, depending on our schedule, and we can all go somewhere close by.”

The subject finally was dropped as they started Assassin’s Creed on his Xbox. However, Jeff’s suggestion to get away from Vegas kept echoing in his mind.

_Heeeyyy_ , he thought. _Didn’t Jenn also suggest taking a trip?_

 

 

 

A week later, Jeff called Kent. Angrily.

“Where the hell are you?! What the fuck?! ‘Take care of my cat, I may be gone for a while’?!?! What the fuck!” Jeff yelled in his phone as Kent answered.

“Uh, hi? Swoops?” he weakly said.

“Are you safe?” Jeff demanded.

“Yep, I’m not losing my mind, Aparna knows what I’m doing, and everything’s cool,” Kent responded, more confidently. “Remember when you and Jenn suggested a trip? I thought it was a kickass idea, so, uh, I’m on a trip!”

“We meant with all of us, you dumb ass! Where the hell are you?” Jeff growled.

“Heh… San Francisco?” Silence. Kent tried to fill it with, “Uh, it’s not far away from Vegas, only an hour and a half flight, I’m renting this sweet apartment in the city, I’m looking into which gyms are close by, and checking out the scene, and… oh Christ, Jeff, just say something,” Kent finally answered back, grumpily.

He could hear Swoops taking deep breaths. Finally, Jeff stated, “Parse. Kent. I’m worried. You destroyed most of your house just a couple of months ago, and I really don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re in a new place, by yourself, right now. Okay?”

That familiar frisson of anger started curling up his spine. Kent breathed in, counting mentally. _One._ Then breathed out, _two,_ just like Aparna suggested, whenever he needed to control his temper. _Swoops is only saying this out of concern. He’s not an asshole. Jeff’s not trying to control me. Jeff doesn’t think I’m weak._

_Breathe in. Three._

_Breathe out. Four._

“Um, Kent, are you there?”

Finally he spoke, “Yes. Swoops. I understand why you’re worried, but I need to get out of town. I told you how Las Vegas – everything about it – reminds me of hockey. Of the Aces. Of the NHL. Of the bullshit way they fucking kicked my ass out of professional hockey. So I need to get out of there. You and Brainer are right; I can’t just hide at home, but I’m not ready to, how did he put it, ‘make new memories’ in Vegas. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s still too soon.”

_Breathe in. Five._

_Breathe out. Six._

“Jeff, if it makes you feel better, Aparna okayed my decision when I explained it to her. We’ve upped my sessions to three times a week again via Skype, at least until I’ve settled in more, and she grew up in this area so she’s giving me recommendations for other therapists and shit if I need someone local. In fact, she was the one who suggested San Francisco.”

_Breathe in. Seven._

_Breathe out_. _Eight._

“Jeff, I’ve gotta do this.”

Finally, _finally,_ Swoops replied. “Parser, fuck – okay. I can’t say I understand why completely, but okay. I’ll let everyone else know where you are, unless you want to text the bastards. I’ll talk with Jenn as well.”

“But bro,” he continued gently. “Bro. You are my fucking best friend, and that will remain the same whether or not you’re playing hockey; fuck, you could become a pro underwater basket weaver and you’ll still be my best friend. And I’ll be here for you, no matter what shit you get into. But Christ, Kent – please, please let me know about any major life decisions before you do them. I swear, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack, man.”

Kent exhaled as he responded, “Thanks. Thanks, Jeff. You know you’re my best friend, too. And I’m sorry for not telling you before I left. I didn’t realize you’d get so worried, and that wasn’t cool of me to tell you in such a shitty way. I’m sorry.”

Then he realized, “Oh, shit. Jenn’s going to kill me, isn’t she?”

“Yep. You owe me for having to tell her tonight by myself.”

_Shit._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I didn't really give out my plan for this story. This is only the first part of three; the second will be in the perspective of Eric, and the last will be of Jack. All three will be showing the repercussions of the aftermath of Jack's and Eric's kiss at the Stanley Cup. I'm also trying to edit the heck out of them; Kent's story is about 26K words, Eric's 16K, and Jack's 38K. 
> 
> (If I'm still inspired, I may end up writing vignettes of the backgrounds of my favorite characters. It depends on how much motivation I have by the time I'm done with the main stories. The characters ended up having a lot to say; I originally thought I was going to write maybe 30K max for all three.)
> 
> I love the comic, and when I want to get away from my RL problems and drudgery, the warm-and-fuzzy land of the adventures of Eric and Jack is perfect. However, there are times when I also want something more in-depth, seeing more inner growth with the characters; during those times, I'll read fan-fiction, as there are seriously great stories here on Ao3 that I find I love, sometimes, more, than the comic itself. 
> 
> I don't claim to be anywhere near the caliber of those stories at all; this is, after all, the very first piece of fiction I've ever written. However, the Kent, Eric and Jack that were born in my imagination had something to say, and so this story is the result. 
> 
> I also wrote this because I love Kent. I know he's a polarizing character in fandom, especially because he's cast as the villain of the story. However, I feel so sad that the one gay character in the comic that lives in an environment that most mimics homophobia in "real life", and has very valid reasons for staying in the closet, is so demonized. We, the audience, don't really know his background, don't know the actual story behind his relationship with Jack, and if he has supportive friends around him to help with the assholes like Carl on his team. I hope he does, however; so in this story, my Kent is surrounded by people who adore him.
> 
> Again, thanks for your support! I hope you continue enjoying this. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets acclimated to San Francisco.

Jenn contacted him shortly after Jeff’s call, yelling in his ear for ten minutes straight before saying she loved him and that he was a little shit as she hung up, so things were cool.

Kent still texted his bros in Las Vegas daily. He also continued his journal writing and Skype calls with Aparna.

In the meantime, Kent wandered around the City, what the locals called San Francisco. He especially loved hanging out in the Castro District, where his rental was located. He wandered around the streets, or shopped for better clothes (his frat flannels weren’t cutting it in sophisticated San Francisco), or sat at a bakery drinking lots of strong, sweet coffee while eating penis-shaped cookies ( _These are awesome, I’m sending some to Jenn_ ), all the while people-watching, silently laughing at the gawking tourists and smiling wistfully at the men holding hands walking down the pavements.

_That’s tripping me out._ He was astounded that it was so _normal_ to be gay and out here. A hot waiter flirted slyly with him, and no one batted an eyelash. The sales associate at the clothing store commented on his hockey butt matter-of-factly, while checking out his body professionally to figure out what would look good on him (“You have _such_ a nice ass, honey. And those pecs, you’re just delicious. We’ve gotta show it all off, you hot young thing,” he said, while Kent’s jaw hit the floor). Drag queens nodded hi to him as he began to recognize one of them at his favorite café which served his morning coffee. Women kissed other females while pushing strollers, crossing the rainbow-painted crosswalk. Men had their arms around their partners perusing storefronts, as if it weren’t a big deal. _Because it’s not, it’s really not a big deal to be publicly gay. Or it shouldn’t be a big deal_ , he amended in his thoughts.

Somehow, he tentatively flirted back with waiters, harmless and fun. Somehow, he stopped looking around furtively to see if anyone caught him checking out the hot guy who caught his eye. Somehow, he felt that the world was brighter somehow. Somehow, a weight that he didn’t realize was on his shoulders burned off with the San Francisco fog. Being gay was normal. _I’m normal here._

 

 

 

“So, uh, hi! My name’s Kent. Would you mind spotting for me?”

Kent had found a gym close by his rental quickly. He wanted to be in shape for when he’d be ready to play hockey (recreationally now, but he still wanted to be good at the sport, _fuck the Aces_ ). Aparna, the all-knowing goddess of a therapist that she is, told him of the gay hockey team in the Bay area that he could join. He had a feeling that was going to happen soon.

In the meantime, he needed to continue his preseason workouts. Which meant he needed to lift. Which meant he needed a spotter. In the past week, he asked the random staff behind the desk if it looked like they were free. However, they seemed busy today and so he looked around to see if there was anyone else.

Sure enough, there was an attractive, dark-haired white guy close to the free weights that Kent had seen frequently enough in the evenings.

After a surprised pause following Kent’s question, the man replied, “Huh. Sure, no problem, if you can spot for me afterwards,” the stranger replied. “Oh, my name’s Tim. Good to meet you,” as he stuck his hand out for Kent to shake.

“Uh, so Kent,” Tim started, after a couple of minutes while Kent put the proper weights on the bar for him to bench. “You seem to be new here. Are you from the area?”

“Um, yeah. I live in Las Vegas, but I’m here for a little while after a… friend recommended that I visit San Francisco.” _It’d be over-sharing if I said my “friend” is my therapist, right?_ , he thought. “And, uh, how about you? Do you live here?” he asked.

“Yep! I moved to the City after I graduated from Stanford,” Tim answered eagerly.

“Holy shit, Stanford! You must be really smart,” Kent exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly.

Tim seemed abashed by Kent’s over-enthusiasm. “Um, well, I worked really hard in school,” he murmured.

_Shit, why can’t I talk to him normally?_ “Uh, that’s great! So, um, what do you do now?” Kent asked, trying to save the conversation.

“Oh, I work as a computer software engineer. My degree was in computer science, so that makes sense, right?” laughed Tim. He continued, “Uh, so what do you do?”

Kent paused. He realized, very quickly, that San Francisco was not a hockey town, which was why he had freeing anonymity ever since he arrived. _Hell, no one online knows where I’m at since I didn’t see anyone taking cell phone pics and people have been leaving me alone_ ; although, after his last tweet announcing his retirement, he stopped being online, so he really didn’t know. Did he really want anyone to know who he was yet? Was he ready to deal with the potential unwanted publicity if Tim decided to tweet that he spotted for the infamous Kent Parson in San Francisco? _No, I still just want to be some ordinary gay dude. Okay, I’ll keep it simple. No lies. Just not the whole truth._

“Eh, I’m retired now; yeah yeah, I know I’m really young, but I was in the right place at the right time and was able to make enough money to not have to ever work again.” _Was that a good answer? That had to be, right?_ And before Tim could ask anymore questions, Ken lay on the bench and asked, “Okay, I’m ready now. Could you spot me?” and the rest of the workout comprised of them making sure the free weights didn’t kill the other.  

 

 

 

Tim and Kent ended up being workout buddies. Since they tended to visit the gym at similar times, it was natural that they spotted for each other. At first, they made only awkward small talk, but as their familiarity grew, it became easier to converse as a couple of weeks flew by.

“You know,” Tim said one day. “I honestly thought you were awkwardly hitting on me when you first talked to me. It wasn’t until I saw how many weights you’re lifting that I realized you actually just needed a spotter,” he laughed.

Kent, gobsmacked, sputtered, “Wait, if you thought I was hitting on you, then why’d you accept? Holy crap, you would have gone out on a date with me?”

Tim smiled widely. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased.

“Okay then, wanna go out for dinner or something?” Kent smirked back. _I can do this, now,_ he thought. _I can ask a guy out in public, now._

Tim slowly looked him up and down and replied, grinning, “Dinner sounds fine. Mighty fine.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent meets Tim's friends and finds out what's been going on with Zimmermann.

It had been three weeks since Kent started dating Tim. They were freer and more fun than Kent ever was with anyone. They could hold hands on the streets; they could kiss in the bars; they could dance together, grinding against each other in night clubs. Their weight-lifting “dates” became flirtatious. (Spotting actually became _enjoyable_.) The sheer fact that they could do all of this in _public_ still blew Kent’s mind.

He finally texted his Las Vegas friends about Tim. After many, many chirps and threats of visiting and cries of _Deets! Deets!_ Jeff wrote in a private channel, _You sound happier than I’ve ever heard you be before. I’m glad, Parse_.

Kent teared up a little. _Damn emotions_.

Responded a simple _Thanks, I am._ He continued to text in group chat,

_So how are you bitches doing so far in the season?_

Scraps answered, _Are you seriously asking us that? Do you not really know?_

Kent wrote out, _Uh, what should I know???_

He had no real idea what was going on with the Aces and the NHL overall. _Hell, I didn’t know how the whole Zimmermann fallout is playing out right now_. He really had been in a media-free bubble.

Brainer replied after a bit of a pause, _Maybe we should have a group Skype call._

 

 

 

A couple of days later, Kent waited impatiently at his rental for Tim to get off work and pick him up. They were going to his friend’s house for a group dinner; “These are my best pals. Seriously, I consider them an extension of my family,” Tim described them. However, he called Kent shortly before they were supposed to meet to say that he was going to be late.

“Fucking people; some bozo decided to update some software today without telling anyone and now everything’s screwed up. Could you go to my friend’s house, and I’ll just meet you there in an hour or so?” he asked.

“Um, sure, but what's your friend’s name? I don’t think they’d want to be addressed as ‘Tim’s friend’, yeah?” Kent joked.

“Argh, sorry. It’s at Jack and Ed’s house. Hmm, Ed won’t be there since he’s my boss as well and we’re dealing with this clusterfuck right now, so it’s Jack, who’s a big sweetheart; in fact, his nickname's ‘Jacky-bear’ since he’s the awesomest hugger that exists. Um, wait – this won’t be uncomfortable for you, will it? There should be other people besides Jack but if it’s too weird without me there, you don’t have to go…” Tim trailed off.

Kent rushed in, “Oh god, no! It’s totally fine and I’m cool with this. Just give me the address and I’ll get there. Anything else I should know?”

Tim replied quickly, “Um, texting you the address right now… There will be other people – Amy, maybe Seth; Jack can introduce you to them, though, and they’re cool peeps… No, rebooting won’t work, yes I tried that… Kent, I’ve gotta go. Sorry love!” and then he hung up.

While Kent knew Tim was paid very nicely for his computer gig, he earned every cent, especially with frequent mini-emergencies, like the one right now.

 

 

 

After Kent knocked on the door to Jack’s place ( _fuck, why does that name have to be so common?_ ), a short, Asian-American girl answered. “Who the fuck are you?” she bluntly asked.

“Uh, I’m Kent and I’m a friend of Tim’s?” he replied, hesitantly.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re not.”

He heard a guy yell in the background, “Stop giving him shit, Amy! Let him in!”

Amy grinned, showing her teeth, and opened the door wide enough so he could walk by her.

As he continued inside, he saw a giant hockey player-sized, older, Latino guy covered with tattoos bound towards him. “You must be Kent! Tim texted and let me know what’s going on. I’m Jack!” and before Kent could say anything, Jack embraced him warmly and continued, “Any friend of Tim’s is a friend of mine! Welcome to Casa Jack and Ed!”

Before he knew it, Kent found himself on a slightly scruffy-but-squishy brown leather couch with a bottle of mineral water in his hands (“We try not to keep alcohol in the household; clean and sober for a decade, now”) with Amy lounging next to him. Jack went back into the kitchen to finish up with dinner (“I love to cook, and the more people to cook for, the happier I am!”) and a slender, blonde guy sat on a well-loved blue La-Z-Boy across the couch.

“So, introductions, right? As you know, I’m Amy, I play violin in the City orchestra, and I got to know Jack and Ed through Ed and the Jiu Jitsu studio we both train at,” Amy smirked.

“Hey, I’m Seth. I dance for the City ballet, and I got to know Jack and Ed through Amy,” the man said, as he reclined the La-Z-Boy and sighed happily, shoes off. “Damn feet hurt like hell, had to practice a fuck-ton today. Sorry if I’m being rude or something,” as he flexed his feet and ankles, stretching them out.

Both Seth and Amy looked at Kent expectantly. He started, “Um, I’m Kent and I’m here because I met Tim at a gym and we’re… dating?”

Amy rolled her eyes and sassed, “Again, you don’t sound very sure. What the fuck’s up with that?”

Seth added in, “And what do you do? When Tim talked about you, he just said you’ve retired after making a lot of money.”

Kent paused. He obliquely mentioned to Tim that, as they got closer, he was a professional athlete before retiring, and that it was still too difficult to talk about the circumstances. It wasn’t that Kent was trying to keep secrets from him anymore; he just didn’t know how to describe the whole clusterfuck with the Aces. With all that in mind, he decided to ignore Seth’s question and answered Amy, “Uh, I’m not used to this whole dating-in-the-open thing, ‘cause I’ve just recently, um, come out, so I’m not used to anything but quick hook-ups in clubs and shit.”

Amy looked at him, piercingly, before relaxing and asking sympathetically, “You must have really, really recently come out. Is Tim your first boyfriend out of the closet?”

Before Kent could respond, he was saved by Jack yelling out, “Food’s done! Time to eat, kids!”

 

 

 

In the middle of eating the delicious, homemade carne asada and tortillas and salsa, Tim and Ed finally walked through the front door. “Hi all,” a tall, older Asian-American man waved. Ed, probably. “Sorry we’re late, fires were burning and we needed to put them out,” he commented. As he walked next to Jack, Ed gave him a peck on the cheek before moving to the kitchen to grab plates and utensils for Tim and himself. Tim also went over to Kent and ruffling his hair fondly, smiling down at him before saying, “Sorry about the delay, but we were able to get here finally, right?” and then heading to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“So,” as Ed and Tim finally joined everyone at the table. “I’m Ed and you must be Kent,” he introduced himself and reached over to shake Kent’s hand. “Tim said that you’re visiting the City right now. Where do you live, normally?” he asked conversationally.

“Um, hi; I’m living in Las Vegas, but I’m thinking of moving since I don’t have to be there anymore,” Kent blurted out.

Ed – and Tim, since Kent didn’t tell him about the moving part – raised his eyebrow. “Oh? Did you lose your job in Vegas?” Ed asked.

Kent paused again. He didn’t really know how much to say, but he realized that he was done being vague. He figured – _Fuck it, I'm getting tired of these half truths. Besides, they probably never even heard of me._ “Uh, yeah; I used to play for the Las Vegas Aces, a hockey team, but had to retire. Uh, Jack, the food’s really good?” he ended weakly.

There was a shocked silence as everyone looked at him, jaws down the floor. Amy broke the quiet with her, “Holy shit, you’re that hockey player, Kent Peterson? Persing?”

“Parson,” he corrected.

“Right”, she continued, getting increasingly irate. “And you said you recently came out. The NHL fuckers. They fucking forced you off the team, didn’t they, because they found out you’re gay. Holy fuck. Those fuckers! It was because of that bastard Zimmering guy, wasn’t it? Oh my _god…_ ”

Ed interrupted with “Amy, stop,” sternly. To Kent, he said gravely, “Have you been on social media since you’ve retired? A lot has happened that I think you’re not aware of.”

“Uh, no; I stopped being on Twitter and Instagram. But the couple of hockey friends I still have told me what’s been happening with the Aces, and how they’re losing money fast. Honestly, I thought the news of my forced retirement just stayed within the hockey world, so I’m, um, surprised you’ve heard of me,” Kent replied hesitantly.

Jack quietly responded, “Kent, son, you’re right in that most of us don’t follow hockey, but we follow LGBT+ issues since we’re all a part of that family. You, son, as well as that Zimmermann guy, have taken center stage in gay media and national news.”

 

 

 

Jack and Ed filled him in with what they had read (Amy and Seth adding their colorful comments) and Tim added his tidbits here and there: While the Aces and the NHL weren’t talking, the speculation was rampant that Parson was gay and forced into retirement, since he wasn’t even past his peak years, had no major injuries, and won the (from Amy and Seth: “motherfucking”) Stanley Cup twice for a small, piddly hockey team that didn’t exist ten years ago. Parson’s sexuality was discovered when Zimmermann came out ignited speculation; thanks to an online gossip site, some anonymous interviews, as well as a couple grainy cellphone photos, everyone knew that the Zimmermann/Parson pair had at least during the Q, been in a closer relationship than publicized. (“’Closer’, they mean you guys were boffing.”) While there had been Parson citings across the country (“You’re supposedly in Rhode Island, trying to win the looooove of Zimmermann back, which is the most popular speculation right now, fucking fanfiction”), no one knew that he was in San Francisco, amazingly.

Meanwhile, the Aces and the Falconers had lost a tremendous number of sponsors while merch and ticket sales for both teams declined spectacularly. (“You know it’s bad when the opposing team gets a major sales boost whenever they’re playing the Falconers.”) While the Aces were still somewhat holding on (“like rats on a sinking ship”), there was speculation that the Falconers owner may need to sell, as they lost an incalculable amount of money and fans since Zimmermann came out. Kent knew about the Aces’ profit loss – the guys told him over Skype a couple of days ago – but he didn’t realize things were that much worse for the Falconers.

Jack Zimmermann was now doing a little PR, but it had been painfully obvious of his reluctance as he only did only a couple of very stilted shorts in “You Can Play”. On the few times he’s off-script, the response was along the same lines as that disastrous post-Cup presser: “Don’t be afraid.” (“Fucking privileged rich white guy. It’s obvious he was never beaten up for being gay.”)

Throughout this all, Parson was perceived sympathetically in all of this. Hockey fans were mourning his loss in the games. The queer audience saw him as a victim of homophobia. The general public viewed him as a martyr. In short: right now, Kent Parson could do no wrong.

 

 

 

When Jack added that there were reports of a rise of queer teen runaways on top of everything else, Kent lost his composure.

“Wait, wait – how do you know this? Is anyone doing anything for the kids? Are these kids running away because they came out because of what Zimms – Zimmermann said? Is he advocating for them or helping them in any, concrete way? How about his boyfriend? Is he doing anything? What the hell?” he sputtered.

Again, there was silence for a little bit, and then Jack stoically answered, “No. Neither the NHL, nor the hockey teams, are doing anything for these kids. The boyfriend – what’s his name, Aaron Bitterman? Anyway -- no one’s really heard from him, other than from an interview with his college paper; and that was just a fluff piece about how he got together with Zimmermann. I’m assuming the kid’s still in college, keeping quiet, and that Zimmermann’s hockey team is somehow keeping him out of the public eye. Anyway, the news of the increasing homeless keep getting buried somehow; while some are reported, they’re only a paragraph or so on the back page, which I suspect is the influence of the NHL.”

Kent muttered, “Okay, so the Falconers or the NHL or both are probably throwing their weight around with the media. All right. What else? What about the rise of the runaways? Is it really because of Zimms – Zimmermann’s lame message to not be afraid?”

Jack cleared his throat. “I volunteer at the homeless teen shelter here in the City, and I’ve been hearing things from the other teen centers across the country. There’s been an abnormal increase in teenage homelessness recently; and while I can’t say that all the cases are a direct result of Zimmermann, some kids directly stated that they came out because of what he said, and who were subsequently kicked out of their home or so physically or mentally abused that they are safer at a homeless shelter or on the streets.”

Kent responded, growing frustrated, “No one, not the NHL, not the Falconers, not the Aces, not fucking Zimmermann – no one’s doing anything for the kids?”

Ed sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “No, Kent,” he answered. “These children have become hockey’s dirty secret.”

Kent could feel himself vibrating in his skin, his anger rising. He stood up, needing to move, pacing in the room and losing himself in his outburst, “This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit! Fuck Zimms! Fuck him. Sure, now he can hold his boy’s hand in public and that’s fucking dandy and swell, but fuck being a fucking _role model to gay kids_ everywhere. Fuck Zimms. Fuck him! Fuck him and the fucking Aces and the fucking NHL. Fuck them all! Goddamn them!” 

As he kept ranting, forgetting his audience, pulling at his hair, spouting off about the fucking Aces, the fucking Falconers, fucking _Zimms_ , he suddenly felt warm, large hands holding his own frantically waving ones. “Hey, hey, calm down. Feel my hands on your hands. See how big they are? Ed calls them monster mitts, they’re so fucking large.” He could hear a voice. As the voice kept rambling on, Kent slowed down and finally looked up.

He saw Jack’s warm eyes.

“Hey, you okay now?” he asked, his concern open on his face.

Kent breathed. Counted in his head. _One, breathe. Two, breathe. Three, breathe._ Squeezed Jack's hands, strongly present in this absurd whirlwind his thoughts had caused. Finally smiled a little. Responded to Jack's question with a murmur.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry about that.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets a new set of friends whether or not he wants them.

“I got this,” Jack hollered as Tim made to stand up as the others still sat at the table. He walked Kent back to the living room, as he continued over his shoulder, “Tim, keep eating. All of you guys keep eating, I wanna talk to Kent alone for a bit.”

As Kent sat back on the comfy leather sofa, Jack plopped on the still-reclined La-Z Boy. Jack chuckled, “I can always tell when Seth sits in this chair because he gets off of it while it’s still reclined. When he complains a lot about his hurting feet, I know he’ll try to steal the comfiest seat in this house.”

“Anyway,” Jack added in a more serious mien, “I wanted to let you know something.”

“Um, okay?” Kent responded. _What’s the protocol for losing one’s shit in some stranger’s house? Fuck, I’ll need to ask Aparna in case this happens again._

“Okay,” Jack repeated. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Ed and I consider Tim our son. Even though Ed’s and Tim’s actual family accepts him, my blood family never accepted me. As a result, it’s a extremely important for me to create one through people I trust and love. While my original intention for these regular dinners were very different -- I honestly just really like to cook and wanted to have an excuse to do so -- I started to create the bonds with what I call my ‘found family’ through these meals. Somehow, we acquired regulars – like Amy, Seth, and Tim right now – and they're like the sons and daughter that Ed and I never had. And I mean our bonds to really be like family, and not some trite, easily forgotten relationship.” He laughed. “Hell, there’ve been other people from years ago, who don’t even live in the City anymore, that I consider my sisters or brothers or sons or daughters; we have, what we call, ‘family reunions’ every year, and we bitch and moan and hang out and they get drunk while I laugh at them,” he smiled, reminiscing.

“Um, that’s great,” grimaced Kent. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Jack looked at him. His focus surprisingly became laser sharp, as if Kent were the only person in the world. “Kent, I don’t know what specifically happened to you, and I will _never_ pry; you’re entitled to your privacy, and I will always respect that. However, I don’t think you realize what it meant when Tim decided to include you to our family dinner. Tim tacitly decided that you’re important enough, and trustworthy enough, and maybe needy enough, to be included in our family. You can ask Tim why. All I know is that he wants you to be a closer part of his life and ours. I’ve known him for years; and you’re only the second person he’s ever introduced to us. Laura, the other person, is someone I consider a daughter who I love very much; I regularly skype with her, even though she transferred to Europe five years ago. In short, we trust Tim. We trust his judgement. And so, you’re a part of us, now, whether you want it or not.”

“Huh?” gawked Kent. _Why the hell would this guy want to trust me? He doesn’t even know me. Hell, I don’t know him._

Jack grinned. “I know, I know – you’re probably wondering why you can trust me, and why I trust you so easily.”

“Uh, well, yeah,” uttered Kent.

He smiled gently. “Well, as I said before, I fully trust Tim; and I see him as my son. He also knows my story -- and I’m glad to tell you as well – but one thing that I realized I need is what I call family. I guess professional therapists would call it a support system. I don’t care about the label, but –” he sighed. “Look, Kent, let me tell you an abbreviated version of my history, and maybe you’ll understand more where I’m coming from.”

“Uh, okay,” cautiously answered Kent.

“Okay, short story: I came out when I was fourteen, subsequently got kicked out of the house, lived on the streets for a year before my aunt let me live with her. She only took me in out of some sense of familial obligation but didn’t really want me. The minute I turned eighteen I joined the Marines with a deep self-hatred of myself for being gay. After ten years of active military seeing way too much action and being deeply in the closet, I got out, moved to the City, and declared myself out to the world and partied hard – the Castro was even more happening back then than it is today.”

His shoulders turned inward as he continued grimly, “I also had a bad, bad case of PTSD, thanks to the Marines. However, I was in a hell of a lot of denial until I tried to kill Ed in the middle of a PTSD attack. That was a major wake-up call, and I’ve been working hard since then.”

“Uh, um, what?” squawked Kent. _W_ _hat the fuck? And Tim said he gave great hugs? What the fuck?_

“Oh,” said Ed, walking in the living room and obviously having heard part of what Jack had said. “You’re telling Kent about how you tried to kill me,” he chuckled. He sat in front of Jack. “Hey love, can you give me a massage? Shoulders are killing me,” he said as he looked up, gazing lovingly at Jack. He turned and looked at Kent. “Don’t worry, we all know this story. There are no secrets here,” he smiled.

“Um, so what happened?” asked Kent, internally freaking out. _Why are we talking about this like it’s no big deal? What the fuck?_

Ed continued as Jack started rubbing his shoulders, “Well, I decided to make breakfast in bed for Jack one morning. However, I’m not all that… physically coordinated – hey, stop laughing, Jack!”, lightly whacking Jack’s knee as he chuckled and murmured “Clumsy is the word we’re looking for” while working on a particular knot.

“Anyway,” Ed cleared his throat. “Anyway, I tripped and dropped the bed table all over the floor. It was loud enough to trigger Jack’s PTSD – oh my god, that feels so good, Jack, computer monitor stand needs to be adjusted – so I found myself pinned against the wall, Jack’s arm trying to cut off my breathing. Ooh, that knot’s been hurting all day, thanks honey.”

Jack rested his hands on Ed’s shoulders, stroking the back of his neck gently with his thumbs. “No problem, babe. Anyway, Kent,” looking up, “Waking up like that flashed me back to when I was in active combat; I was in that ‘Gonna kill whatever caused that sound before it kills me’ mode. Thank god I snapped out of it before Ed got injured. But it was scary, scary as hell. We were just starting to fall in love, and I was – still am, babe – so, so smitten with Ed. That I had tried to kill someone I began to care so much about deeply frightened the hell out of me, and that was when I got help.”

“Uh, wow, thanks for telling me all of this, I’m honored that you trust me,” Kent rambled aimlessly.  _How are they so casual about this all? What the fuck?_  “But why are you telling me?”

Jack grinned. “My point is this: As I’ve said, part of my therapy is to surround myself with people who I trust, who I love: my found family. And I trust them, fully; I need to, to be able to function. And Tim – I love him deeply, so when he trusted you enough to introduce you to us, I knew that you’d be a good person to include as part of my family. So, in my mind, you are already.”

He continued, beaming softly, “Whatever you want to share, you’re safe here.” As his lingering grin changed into a grimace, he added, “Even in the City, we all deal with living in a society where being different, whether it’s because we’re not straight or not white or both, is sometimes treated with hatred, so you are protected here. Ed and I make sure that anyone entering our home and our lives are safe; and I, personally, trust you so that I told you my story, and why I’m willing to open my home to you.”

Kent hesitantly interrupted, “Uh, but why? You don’t even know me. Frankly, I am a total selfish asshole most of the time.”

Jack laughed. “As I’ve said before, Tim vouched for you by inviting you here tonight. You two are dating each other; but even if you two were platonic, we trust his judgement. I really meant it when I said that any friend of Tim’s is a friend of mine. Besides,” he added with a wink, “We’re all assholes at times so that doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks,” Kent mumbled.

After some stillness, Jack continued. “Also, I know trauma. I lead a PTSD Group Therapy session twice a week, and I can recognize it in others, in addition to my own personal experiences. Kent, the events that happened to you can be traumatic to most people. You were forced to come out, maybe not to the general public – I haven’t read anything from your PR guys that you’re officially out – but the Zimmermann incident put you, unwillingly, out of the closet to at least your bosses, who then made you retire somehow. Being forced to come out is a violation on its own; and then losing, what I assume is your passion, because of something that was beyond your control, can overwhelm anyone.”

“Um, I appreciate the concern, but I’m doing pretty well. Being in the City and away from Vegas is helping a lot,” Kent murmured, uncomfortable.

“And that’s great!” Jack exclaimed, sincerely. “At the same time, I just want you to know that we’ll be here. I don’t know about the details of what happened with you and hockey. I just want you to know that, while I’ll assume you have a supportive network of people in Las Vegas, you can also have one here, in the City.”

“And you can stop making Kent so uncomfortable, Jacky-Bear,” Amy said, as she walked in the room, plopping herself on the sofa next to Kent. “We put leftovers in the fridge; Christ, the both of you have too much shit in there. How much Tupperware can stack in there? It was like playing fucking Tetris; and I _suck_ at Tetris,” she complained.

Tim sat on Kent’s other side. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked quietly, grabbing his hand and kissing it. “You look a bit freaked out.”

Kent bewilderedly looked at everyone, as Seth moved in, grunting as he sat on the floor in front of Amy. “You’re all being really nice to me, even though you don’t know me. Christ, Tim – I didn’t even tell you that I played hockey. So how can you all be so, I don’t know, fucking _nice_ and trusting of me?”

“Well, anyone that Tim brings over has to be cool. You’re like, only the second person he’s ever invited? And he’s known Ed and Jack _forever_ ,” Amy emphasized. She added with a smirk, nudging his shoulder, “Okay, so now that all this touchy-feely bullshit is done, you have to tell us: what is it about hockey that makes the players’ asses so fucking hot?”

As they changed the topic and were ribbing each other about hockey bodies – “Tim, you’ve got to do the same workout Kent does to get that hot bod.” “No way, it’s too difficult.” “But think of that ass! That ass!” – Kent started to become more comfortable and laughed at some of Amy’s snarky chirps.

However, Ed interrupted with, “Seth, you’ve been quiet. What’s up?”

Seth sighed, and then looked up at Kent. “Okay, Kent – maybe I shouldn’t say anything to you, and I know this isn’t fair, but -- now that you know what’s going on, what are _you_ going to do? While it seems like this Zimmermann and his boyfriend’s going to stay in their happy little bubble, you’ve been radio silent as well and not doing anything. Now that you know what’s going on, are you going to help the kids? Are you going to do any sort of advocacy? Are you going to continue to ignore what’s going on? What are you going to do?”

Before Kent could reply, Amy exploded, “Christ, Seth, he just found out about all this tonight, not to mention all the shit happened just recently, from the past summer! Fuck, give the guy a break!”

Seth answered, “You’re right, Amy. And I’m sorry to place this on your shoulders,” as he turned to look at Kent in the eye. “But… but I was one of those kids whose parents were… they weren’t very happy that they had a gay son, and even sent me to one of those conversion camps. Fuck – I didn’t run away because I got lucky that my grandma took me in, but I would have ended up living on the streets if she weren’t there. So… so I have to ask if you’re going to do anything. I just… I just need to ask, okay?”  


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent gets the support he needs, and is slowly learning how to take care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- WARNING: In this chapter, Kent starts to spiral. He doesn't self-harm, however. Despite that, if you tend to trigger, I'd advise caution in reading the paragraphs between the asterisks.
> 
> \- More Kudos! Thank you!  
> \- Seems I'm posting about a chapter a day, wee! Tomorrow will be busy for me, so I'm posting two today and none tomorrow.

Jack sighed, deeply before speaking up. “Seth, your pain is completely valid. At the same time, Kent just found out about all of this, right?” as he looked at Kent, who nodded dumbly. “Okay, you need to let him go process what he just learned. You also need to let him heal from the crap he had to endure a couple of months ago. He has a right to that.”

“But…” Seth interrupted.

“Seth,” Jack continued, “You also need to heal from your past. It’s not Kent’s responsibility if he chooses not to do what you want him to do. That’s not fair to burden him. He didn’t choose to be outed. He didn’t choose anything that’s happened, just like you didn’t choose to be bullied nor depressed nor sent to that camp from hell.”

In the pregnant pause afterwards, Kent felt the familiar vibrations inside his skin again. He blurted out, “I’m so, so sorry, Seth. Fuck, I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. God, I’m so sorry for the kids, too. Christ… Christ. I, uh, I gotta go.” As he stood up, Kent continued to babble, “I’m sorry about all of this. Uh, thanks for dinner and for telling me what was going on. Um, no Tim, you should stay and catch up with your friends,” as he saw that Tim stood up to join him.

As Kent fled to the door, he babbled his thanks and goodbyes over the cries of Amy’s “Shit, Seth, you dumb ass!” and Tim’s “No, I can leave right now!” and Ed’s and Jack’s sad eyes following him, softly saying goodbye. Jack said, “Please come back when you can, you will always be welcome here.”

 

 

************************ 

Kent somehow made it back to his apartment. He left the lights off.

He felt so much shame, prickling the back of his neck, his back. He wanted to hide, live in the dark, curl up in a corner and never let anyone see him again.

He felt that tingling of shame transform into a tendril of anger rapidly climbing up his belly, his chest, his head and wanted to destroy the furniture in the room and feel pain to mask that goddamned dark cavernous void in his head that left him so fucking exposed, even in the dark.

Vaguely, a part of his brain that sounded a lot like Aparna calmly, unemotionally command, “Breathe from your belly.”

He tried. He attempted to take a deep breath.

Aparna’s voice again demanded, “Breathe from your belly.”

He tried again. It was a little easier.

Breathe.

Again.

And again.

The anger, while a little dissipated, was still a flaming chasm in his chest.

Aparna’s voice – _Christ, what else did she suggest to do when I’m like this?_

He clumsily tripped over to his refrigerator. He grabbed a piece of ice from his freezer and held it into a fist.

He felt the piercing cold dripping through his fingers, cutting through the heat in his chest.

He breathed. _Deep, from the belly, like Aparna and I practiced._

He grabbed another piece of ice when all he held was lukewarm water.

Breathed.

Grabbed another ice in his fist.

Again.

Again.

Finally, _finally,_ he calmed, his vision clearer. He could make out that the ice tray was empty _(Christ, I went through all the ice)_ , and water had dripped from the counter to the floor, leaving puddles.  

He could hear his heartbeat, still pounding.

He could see his apartment, still pristine and whole in its shadows.

His head felt like it had been underwater for weeks. He looked around the room for his phone; _I’m a dumbass, it’s in my jeans pocket._

He dialed for Jeff. _Did he have a game tonight? Fuck, I need to memorize their schedules._ The dial tone rang. And rang.

_Breathe from the belly, deep breaths_ , said Aparna’s voice.

“Hey, Parse!” _Oh, thank god thank god thank god he answered_.

“Jeff? Jeff?...” he croaked. _Damnit, what’s wrong with my voice?_

“Oh no, are you okay? Are you safe?” panicked Swoops.

Deep breath. _Breathe from the belly._

“Yeah. Stopped a spiral, I’m almost over it now,” talking was growing easier.

Silence. The clock was ticking in the dark apartment. Kent’s heart slowed down.

Finally, Jeff asked gingerly, “What triggered it, bro?”

“I found out about more of the Zimmermann kiss fallout,” he blew out.

Between deep breathes and long pauses, he retold what happened that evening, what Jack and Ed told him, what Seth had said.

“The thing is, Seth’s right,” Kent said, who at that point, could speak clearly. “I was in my own fucking bubble – ‘Oh poor me, boo hoo, I don’t get to play hockey but I’m fucking rich so I can pay for my own therapist and move out of Vegas because I have issues and poor me, I can’t play a fucking unimportant sport’ – god, I’m so fucking lame. I’m such a fucking asshole. Christ, Swoops, I’m even more lame than Zimmermann.”

Jeff interrupted. “Hold up, Parser – you are not worse than Zimmermann. I agree with this Jack guy: you were outed against your will. You were forced to give up hockey, which was your fucking life since high school – hell, you gave your fucking body and your mind and your life to the sport for a helluva long time. You can’t compare yourself with Zimmermann, because the circumstances are way different.”

He sighed. “Shit, I wish Brainer were here. He’d be able to explain it better, but the thing is, Jack Zimmermann _chose_ to come out. With that choice came responsibilities, whether it was fair to him or not, but he refused to take on those responsibilities anyway. But you, Parse – you didn’t get to choose. At all. ‘Kay?”

As Swoops kept talking, he heard a knock. “Hey, wait,” he said. “Someone’s here,” as he opened the door.

It was Tim.

“Swoops, I need to get off right now. Tim’s here,” Kent explained.

“All right,” Jeff responded. “But Parse,” he continued. “Hey, give me a call before you sleep. I wanna make sure you’re all right. And dude, you’re coming to Vegas soon, we miss your ugly mug, you bastard,” he joked. “Okay?”

“Okay, I miss you too.” Kent paused. “And Jeff, thanks for picking up.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it: you’re my best friend.”

 

**************************

 

As Kent let Tim in, he turned on the lights while heading to the living room. _Here we go,_ he thought. _He now knows how fucked up I am.  And of course he’s going to choose Seth over me. Why wouldn’t he? Fuck. Why can’t things be simple for once?_

“Tim, uh, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the whole hockey shit before,” Kent said tiredly, before Tim could start. “I should have, so you knew what a fucking mess I am before we started dating to save you some time.”

“Wait, Kent. What do you mean by ‘saving me time’?” he asked softly.

“You’re going to break up with me, aren’t you? And that’s cool, I respect you choosing your good friend over some asshole like me,” he looked down. _I want to sleep for years right now, I’m so fucking tired._

“Woah woah, stop. Stop,” Tim strode over to Kent and wrapped his arms around him, holding him gently. “No, I’m not going to break up with you. I really like you a lot, and I don’t give a damn about your hockey past. Really, I don’t. Okay?” he murmured, rocking him slightly, his hand rubbing circles on Kent’s back.

Tim continued, “First of all, it was very apparent to me that something bad happened when I first met you. God, you were so timid when you asked me to spot you! Did you know that I noticed you before you talked to me? (I don’t think you realize how hot you are, Kent; lots of guys checked you out at the gym. But I digress.) I saw how you kept to yourself, almost like you were afraid of invading in anyone’s space. And the fact that you were so jumpy when I’d hold your hand later, or did some other minor PDA – god, it was so obvious that you had just come out, but not in a safe way. While I don’t know the minutiae about hockey nor this Zimmermann guy, it’s obvious to me that you were outed without your consent; and not only that, they forced you to stop doing what you loved; so no, you’re not messed up. Or rather, not more than the usual person. All right?”

“But what about Seth? He seems to blame me for, oh god, those poor runaways…” Kent murmured in Tim’s shoulder, relaxing his head on it.

“First of all, no true friend would force me to ‘choose’ between one person or another. This isn’t grade school and we’re all adults; and anyway, if Seth tried to make me choose, he’d be a moron and we’d all give him a good whack on the head,” Tim replied firmly.

“Plus,” he added, “Seth’s issues are exactly that: _his_ issues. They’re not yours to bear. We all talked to him after you left, you know. Jacky-Bear and Ed gave him the Dad guilt lecture from hell along the lines of ‘We love you so much and so that’s why we’re extremely disappointed in you’. You’ll probably get it in the future; we all get one when we act like boneheads,” he laughed softly. “Regardless, Seth realizes how messed up he was to say that crap. He’s going to apologize to you at the next dinner.”

“Wait, I’m invited again? But, but why?” Kent sputtered, pulling his head back a little.

“Seriously?” Tim laughed again. “Kent, I tend to read people pretty well. You keep calling yourself an asshole, and it makes me sad that you genuinely believe you are. I’ve seen how nice you are to random people when we go out. I’ve noticed that you continually stuff $20s in the tip jar at that café, especially after you found out that the barista’s been trying to pay off her student loans, still go to grad school and somehow survive in the City. You also pay for Miss Trixie’s drink and food whenever you go to there so that she’ll at least have something to eat, even though most people ignore her because she’s a homeless drag queen. I know you’ve been putting out those bowls of cat food and water in the alley, even though they’re feral and will never let you pet them. And that’s just what I see when I’m with you.”

“But Christ, Tim – I do those things because I have money, more than I need. If I were poor, I wouldn’t do any of that,” Kent blurted. “I’m not a fucking saint.”

“Kent. Kent,” Tim looked at him seriously, no trace of mirth on his face. “This is the City. San Francisco. It’s one of the most expensive places to live in the US. There are lots of people here who are loaded, but they won’t do these random acts of kindness that you do. No, it’s true,” he continued over Kent’s interruptions. “And more, the Las Vegas hockey team – they’re called the Aces? -- hasn’t been doing very well this year from what I’ve heard. I have a very strong feeling that they’ve been doing badly because you were the glue that stuck the team together. You were the heart, and you cared for your team a lot. Well, an asshole wouldn’t care. An asshole wouldn’t be the heart of a team.”  

“But how can you and your friends trust me so easily? How the hell can they?” he asked, resting his head back on Tim’s shoulder.

Tim sighed. “They trust my judgment, simple as that. I can see that it’s hard for you to take a compliment, so I won’t say anything else about how awesome you are, at least for tonight. However, I’ll throw the question right back at you: how were you able to trust my friends and I so easily, telling us about who you really are?”

“Um, uh – I thought they knew nothing about hockey, so it wouldn’t be a big deal if I mentioned it,” Kent muttered.

“But any of us could have googled and found out. But you chose to trust them, and I’d like to think it was because you trust me as well.”

 

 

 

As quietly stood there, holding each other, Kent thought of how San Francisco felt like home. He realized that he could move here, live here with his cat; he was able to continue to Skype Aparna; and since Las Vegas was a short plane ride away, he could visit his bros and Jenn easily. _I really don’t have anything left in Las Vegas. I can live here. I can be safely out here,_ he thought.

“Tim, would you do me a favor,” he asked.

“Sure, what is it?” Tim queried.

Kent pulled his head back again to look at him. “I’m definitely going to move here, or at least buy a place in the City,” he smiled a little. “But I need to get my cat, and I want to see my friends and let them know, face-to-face,” he said. “Will you come with me?”

Tim pulled back as well, hands sliding down Kent’s arms. As Tim smiled gently, gazing into Kent’s eyes, he answered, “I would be honored to. Thanks for including me, Kent.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent and Tim visit old friends, and Kent makes an impulsive and important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Yay, more kudos! Thank you, thank you, thank you!  
> \- Again, I have no beta so all grammatical and spelling errors are mine. Also, I'm finding it hard to edit. (I have a difficult time being succinct.)  
> Enjoy!

“Parser! You bastard, Parse!” yelled Swoops, laughing, as he spotted Tim and him at baggage claim. They quickly arranged to visit that weekend, as Tim didn’t have any other time available until after Christmas and the Aces schedule didn’t match up until even later in the season.

Jenn ran up to them and gave Kent a huge hug, leaping into his arms. “Kent, it’s so _great_ to see you again! How long are you here to stay? What have you been up to? What’s the deal with the penis cookies? How was San Francisco? Did you…” Swoops interrupted, “Hey, let go of him and let him breathe, Jenn!” As she reluctantly let him go, Jeff took her place and gave him a short but warm embrace. “Kent, it’s good to see you, man,” he said, smiling. “The rest of the guys are waiting at my house.” In a lower voice, he asked, “Are you okay? I was worried about you after your phone call, man.”

Kent replied, “Yeah, bro. Thanks for being there. I really, really appreciate it,” he smiled as he nudged him.

“And you must be Tim!” Jenn gushed, turning around to him and giving him a hug as well. “Kent told us all about you! Well, not all, but he said you’re his boyfriend? And you work with computers, right? And you guys met at a gym? And…” This time, Kent interrupted, “Hey, let him talk! Sheesh, I know you’re excited…” he trailed off as he also beamed from seeing her enthusiasm and acceptance.

“Uh, hi? Yeah, I’m Tim and Kent also told me about how great you guys are. I can see how right he is,” he grinned, shaking Swoops’ hand.

 

 

 

As they arrived at his house, he was greeted with more exuberant hollers. “Hey Parse, you prodigal son! You’re okay! How are you doing, you bastard?” yelled Scraps. “God, it’s great to see you, you son of a bitch,” added Pinky as he bounded over to Kent and lifted him up in a hug. “I see you’re still tiny; shit, you’ve lost weight! You bastard! You’re letting yourself go!” he chirped happily as he let Kent go.

“Hi, Parson,” said Brainer. “We’ve missed you is what the other two are trying to say,” he stated quietly, although his bro hug was just as warm as Pinky’s. “Are you okay, Parse?” he asked seriously.

“Yeah, bro, I really am,” Kent stated looking straight in his eyes. “Yeah, things are much better now.”

After they sat on couches and went through introductions with Tim (“Why do you all have so many nicknames?” “Uh, it’s a hockey thing.”), Kent asked the Aces’ players, “So, uh, you guys already told me how the Aces are losing money, fast, but why are you guys playing like shit? I know how good each of the Aces are, so the team should be doing fine without me, or at least better than how you’ve been playing so far. What gives?”

Scraps snorted, disgusted. “They gave fucking Carl as an A. Homophobic bastard Carl. And we’re doing badly, Parse, because you’re not there. Fans are hella pissed at us. They miss you, so playing at home sucks now. Besides, most of the team, besides the few homophobic assholes like Carl, want you back. Hell, practically half the team are asking for trades because the team’s going downhill without anything to look like it’ll go back up. Morale’s down and we’re not playing like a team and no one really cares. No one’s really looking out for each other; hell, there’s no one to look out for the rookies, who have no idea what the fuck they’re doing, although Brainer and Swoops are trying. Shit. It’s bad.”

Jeff laughed dryly. “I ended up using your mom-mobile a couple of times. Needed it for the few times we all went out clubbing. I may have needed to get the inside professionally cleaned, since some of the rookies puked.”

Kent sighed. “Didn’t anyone make sure the rookies wouldn’t drink too much? No, don’t answer that, it’s obvious they’re pretty much left on their own,” he added, somewhat saddened. _All the fucking hard work I did, making the Aces into a cohesive team; and now, they fell apart so quickly. Shit._

Tim leaned over Kent, and murmured, “See, Kent? You were definitely the heart of this team; you’re totally awesome, you know.” Kent looked at Tim, blushing as he smiled a little. _I don’t know how true that is, but it makes me feel a little better._

Pinky started hollering, “You’re turning red, Parser! Woo hoo, glad to see that! What did you say to him, Tim?” waggling his eyebrows.

Tim looked around and laughed. “Just told him how great he is; I notice he doesn’t take compliments all too well.”

“Shut up, Tim,” Kent growled. _Never mind. I don’t feel better._

Scraps shouted, “Bro, you’re right! Parse, you are so fucking great! Dude, you toppled the Aces franchise, that’s how awesome you are! If we were playing an RPG, you’d be the hero with the critical hit of a thousand!”

“Huh?” asked Kent, befuddled. “Scraps, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Brian laughed. “Scraps discovered RPG games. We don’t play Call of Duty when he’s around anymore; we have to go through Final Fantasy.”

“But it’s awesome, dude! You really should give the games a try!” Scraps argued.

As the chirps devolved into a shouting match between Pinky and Scraps about video games, Kent looked around, beaming.  _These are my people. I'm so lucky to have them._ He began to understand what Jacky-Bear was trying to tell him.  _He called them his found family. Huh. I like that. These hopeless bastards, the best people who actually care for me -- yeah. Yeah, they're my found family. Yeah._

 

 

 

As the evening wore on, Kent talked to both Tim and Jenn, “Jenn works at the homeless center here in Las Vegas. Jenn, someone who volunteers at the San Francisco shelter said that there’s an increase in teen runaways, partly because of Zimm’s coming out and fucked up encouragement to ‘not be afraid’”, he added the last part mockingly. “Is that true here in Vegas as well?”

Jenn, who had been happily chatting away with Tim, frowned and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. Who’s this someone?”

Tim piped in, “He’s a good friend of mine, Jack Ramirez. He tries to work primarily with the teens there, but he also works with PTSD survivors and vets as well.”

Jenn, surprised, exclaimed, “Wait, _the_ Jack Ramirez?! He’s amazing! San Francisco keeps trying to offer him a job, but he keeps refusing it and just wants to volunteer. Said he would have to deal with paperwork if he had an official position there, and he just wants to work with the people. Yeah, I’ve heard of him! He’s amazing!”

She paused, and then said less exuberantly, “And… he keeps himself well-connected with the other shelters across the country. If he said that there’s in increase in teen homeless because of the Zimmermann event, then he’s most likely correct. Damnit.”

As the other conversations died during her talk, Swoops added dourly, “And Jenn still is in touch with her friends at the hospital. Jenn, you need to tell Parse.”

She sighed. “You’re right. Fuck.” She looked at Kent in the eye, facing him. “First of all, this is not your fault.”

“So…” Kent added, as she hesitated a little too long before continuing.

“More teenaged patients have been admitted at the hospital recently. Some, for physical trauma from broken fingers to severe debilitation requiring hospitalization. Others, for mental disorders, from depression to attempted suicide. Some of these patients have indicated that their trauma, mental or physical, is because of coming out.”

She breathed in before continuing, “While not all had stated that it was directly because of Zimmermann, it’s odd that at this time of year, there’d be this drastic an increased violence in teenaged LGBT+ patients. However, I don’t have contact with any other hospitals outside of Vegas, so it may be a coincidence, but at least for here… I believe it’s safe to say that we’re seeing the ripple effects of Zimmermann’s actions here at least.”

In the silence after Jenn’s news, the guilt and the sadness he felt for these teens, _Really, they’re just kids, they’re just children,_ brought tears to Kent’s eyes. The tears, however, brought that familiar feeling of anger again, fueling an impulsive decision. He thought, _Fuck it. Fuck the league. Fuck Zimms. These kids need a good role model and someone who can fucking save them or at least help them out, and since no one’s stepping up to the plate, that goddamned someone will have to be_ me.

“Okay, so I have to do something for these kids. Screw it, I’ll be the figurehead and advocate for them.”

At his statement, everyone started yelling, “No, no way!” “It’s not your fault this is happening!” “What the fucking hell, Parse?” before Tim spoke over the noise with, “Kent, I believe that, as you’re another ripple effect of this Zimmermann guy’s actions, you’re not responsible for this. Okay? It is not your job to fix this.”

Swoops added, “Christ, Parser, please -- just live your life right now. Live being gay and proud and happy. You’re not obligated to fix Zimmermann’s problems, okay? Let him be responsible for his own actions, and don’t take on this burden. Fuck, Parse… Kent. It’s only been this past summer that you trashed your house. _You had a fucking meltdown earlier this week_ , for fuck’s sake. Just wait at least and continue to heal, Christ.”

Kent burst out, “Swoops, that isn’t fair. I was able to handle my spiral; I was able to calm down _by myself_. Fuck, what do you think Aparna and I do during our sessions?” He continued ranting, “And what about the kids? How are they going to be safe if no one fucking does anything for them?”

_Goddamned tears._ He wiped his eyes, angrily, continuing, “I know Jack. I _know_ him. He’s not going to do anything about this. He’s going to leave it up to dear old Bad Bob and Alicia to deal with the repercussions, while he happily lives with his boyfriend, ignoring the world around him. But what about the kids that are getting hurt? Someone needs to help them! Fuck, someone needs to advocate for them, but I know, sure as shit, that Zimmermann will do fuck-all for them.”

He added on, quieter, “And… and I can imagine that, if there aren’t already, there are kids who will die because of this shit. Because Zimms couldn’t be bothered to be a good role model, to lead and help these kids and the gay community as a whole. But I can. I fucking can. The media already loves me, and I already know how to play the publicity game well enough to continue that trend. Fuck it, I will,” his voice raised at the end of his words.

He suddenly turned to Tim. “Seth asked me what I’m going to do. Well, I’m going to fucking do it. I’ll help these damn kids because they need someone. And I’m going to fucking save them, because Zimmermann sure as shit won’t.”

There was a shocked hush after Kent’s tirade.

“Kent,” Jenn finally broke the tense silence. “Kent, okay. Okay, Jeff and I will support you in this decision. _Yes_ , we will,” she added to negate Jeff’s “No way in hell” mutter.

“Brains and Pinky and Scraps will, too, right?” as she looked at them and Brains gave a slight nod, Scraps uttered “Sure as shit” while Pinky yelled, “Fuck, yeah”.

“Okay, and while you do what you need to do, you’ve got to promise that you will continue to have regular sessions with Aparna. You’ve got to promise that you’ll have people who care about you around to help you out. Promise you’ll let us help you, and fucking communicate with us. Don’t push us away, okay? It’s going to hard on you, really fucking hard, if you choose to do this. And because, while I care about these kids, and I understand why you have to do this, I love you, and I swear to god, I will not lose you.”

She took a deep breath. “Kent, I was so afraid,” as her eyes filled with tears, “You trashed your house and hurt your feet so badly, and I was so afraid I was going to lose you, all right? So will you promise me those things?”

Kent looked at her steadily and promised, “Yeah. Yes, I will.” And meant it. _I promise._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent takes the steps to become a superhero and starts playing hockey again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for the kudos!!! I really appreciate them. :) I'm hoping I'll be able to post the rest of this story over the weekend; if not, definitely by the beginning of next week. I've started editing second part that comprises of Eric's POV so that I can start posting that at the end of next week.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading this! :)

Kent got back in touch with his Las Vegas lawyer as well as his PR agent while he was in Vegas. His weekend trip turned into three weeks, so Tim had to fly back to SFO alone. At McCarren airport, when Kent gave Tim a hug and a kiss goodbye ( _I’m out, so fuck the cameras_ ). As Tim held Kent, he whispered in his ear, “I’m so very proud of you. You really are wonderful.” They both had wistful smiles as they waved goodbye.

Both Liz, his scary and awesome lawyer, as well as Shannon, his frighteningly efficient PR agent, jumped on board to help him start a charitable organization. They hired attorneys to figure out where it should be headquartered; Kent found that it was better, tax-wise, to stay in Vegas, than it was to establish its base in San Francisco. _Oh well,_ he thought. _I can still live there; I’ll just split my time between the two places._ He also got a real estate agent to start looking for places in the City. His alarmingly competent team hired support staff quickly for the budding foundation. They frankly did most of the heavy lifting for him. _I guess if you have enough money and fame, things get done a lot more quickly,_ he cynically thought.

Establishing a name for the organization was terribly embarrassing for Kent.

“Why, for chrissakes, do we want to name it after myself? That’s such a jerk move,” Kent whined.

Shannon looked at him. “Look, Kent – we want name recognition. The public already knows and loves you, so anything named after you will give positive, free advertisement. They also know you’re out unofficially -- which you have to make official, by the way -- and since you want to focus on the LGBT+ teen population, your sexual orientation also gets associated with the charity if we name it after you.”

He whined, “But god, I’ll look like such an asshole…”

Shannon leveled that _Look_ at him. “I don’t care. We’re naming it the Kent Parson Foundation.”

He capitulated under the _Look_. “Okay, okay. But can we call it KPF amongst ourselves? Seriously, naming an organization after myself – that’s seriously douchey.”

 

 

 

Finally, after back-to-back interviews, PR stunts, publicity shots and more hell, Kent was able to get back to San Francisco for two weeks. (Shannon wasn’t very happy about that, but he promised he’d be back at the beginning of December to subject himself to more of her whims.) The Out! Magazine issue, where he officially told the world he was proudly gay in the interview, ( _the photo shoot where I'm naked and wrapped around a gay pride flag_   _also makes it obvious)_ wasn’t going to hit the newsstands for a couple of more weeks, and so he needed a break of some sort before that started another media shitstorm. As soon as he got back to his rental, he texted Tim.

_Hi babe! I’m finally back in the City. Do you want to hang out after you get off work, or do you have more of your volunteer work to do?_ Tim spent his spare time working with underprivileged youth, teaching them basic computer skills and mentoring them. When Kent asked why, Tim answered nostalgically, “I was a foster kid going from home to home before I was finally adopted when I was fifteen; but my sixth-grade computer science teacher decided to put me under her wing and helped me learn more about computers. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here now. I owe it to her to return the favor.”

_Kent! Yes, definitely._ Tim responded. Then he added, _Tonight is my usual dinner at Jack and Ed’s place. Do you want to go?_

As Kent thought about it, Tim wrote, _We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s just that they’d really like to see you, as does Seth. He really, really wants to apologize and won’t stop bugging me about it._

Kent remembered what Jenn said to him when he told everyone about his decision to work for the teens. _She was right. She realized, before I did, that I’ll need people to help me deal with all the shit that’s gonna come from being in public all the time. She knows that I need_ my _support people around me. Jack and Ed want me there. I really don’t know why they've accepted me so quickly, but they_ want _me to be a part of their friends._

With that in mind, Kent texted back, _Sure, let’s go to Jack and Ed’s. Should I bring anything?_

 

 

 

As both Tim and Kent announced themselves at Jack and Ed’s apartment, Amy clamored out and applauded them. “Looky here! It’s the man of the hour!” she cackled. Ed walked out of the kitchen with Jack wiping his hands off a dish towel. Seth slowly followed behind them.

“Kent! You’re here!”

“Kent! Welcome back!”

After the boisterous greetings Seth piped up softly, “Hey Kent.”

“Hi Seth,” he replied, as open as he could be. _Tim did say he wanted to apologize. No harm done, right?_

“Um, I wanted to say that I’m really sorry for what I said. That was uncalled for and completely fucked up. Uh, I knew it was fucked up even as I said it, but I still owe you an apology. Um, I messed up and I shouldn’t have put my issues onto your shoulders,” Seth said quietly, looking down at the ground.

Kent sighed. “Hey bro, it’s fine. I totally understand where you’re coming from. And anyway, I am doing something about it now. You’re right; I was in my own fucking bubble and I’m glad you helped pop it, okay?”

Seth’s eyes shot up. “What? What do you mean you’re doing something about it? Hey, you shouldn’t, it’s not your burden. Oh shit, is it because of what I said? Fuck, no, that’s wrong…” he started babbling.

“Seth. Seth,” Kent interrupted. “Hey, it wasn’t because of what you said. Well,” modifying his words, “It wasn’t _just_ because of what you said. There are a lot of reasons why I’m starting the charity, but the biggest reason is that no one’s doing shit for the teens, so I need to step up to the plate and take action.”

“Huh, what? Charity? What the hell are you talking about, Kent?” asked Amy.

Kent glowered, slowly, at Tim. “I take it you didn’t mention it to them.”

Tim smiled sweetly. “I figured you’d want to break the news yourself.”

Kent breathed out. “All right. Let me explain why I’ve been in Vegas for much longer than I planned.” He took a breath in and continued. Amidst the comments and remarks of the others, he caught Seth’s eye who mouthed, “Are we okay now?” He smiled and mouthed back, “Yes.”

 

 

 

A couple of days after the dinner with Tim’s friends, Kent finally went to an ice-skating rink. He got in touch with the San Francisco Hustlers, a gay amateur hockey team in the area, and he was going to meet them to see if he’d be a good fit for the team.

The last time Kent skated was before he had gotten the news of that shitty Aces offer, back in June. At the time, he didn’t want to get on the ice; his feet hurt from his meltdown. Plus, he didn’t want to go to a rink in Vegas where he knew he’d be recognized. Then, when he arrived in San Francisco, he dove straight into the Castro District and wanted to remain in its open, warm inclusivity.

However, there was an itch in part of his brain that called for hockey. He missed the rink desperately. He missed the way his blades flew over the smoothness of the ice. He missed the thrill of stealing a puck and shooting it into the net, past the hulking monster of the goalie trying to stop him. He missed the roar of the audience when he snaked around his larger opponents, too clumsy and slow to check him. It was his life, all of his life for so long.

_Of course I miss it._

He arrived earlier that his meeting with the team to see if he could just skate around, get his legs back. His workouts in the gym helped keep him in shape, but he knew that they were poor substitutes for on-ice drills and practices. As he sat on the bleachers, automatically lacing up his skates just the way he liked them, he found the tingling of excitement in his limbs as he finally finished and got on the ice.

_Oh my god. I miss this. I miss this so much._

He skated around the rink doing his warm-ups. He was alone, and the Zamboni must have recently smoothed the ice as it was mostly unscratched. He saw that the net had been set up, as well as a bucket containing some pucks; when he was done with his warm-up, he grabbed a puck and started playing with it.

_I’m home. I’m finally home. Hockey is still home for me._

As he practiced shooting some goals with the bucket of pucks, he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He saw another guy standing along the ice, watching him skate. “Hey,” the man waved his hand, “That’s some beautiful skating you’ve got there.”

Kent skated over to him as he replied, “Thanks. Are you Joseph Keplinger?” he asked.

“Yep, that’s me!” Keplinger answered cheerfully. “You must be Kent?”

“Yeah, we talked on the phone about me joining the Hustlers?” he asked.

“Heck yeah, we’d love you! We generally let anyone in, so long as the player is LGBT+ friendly and if we have the space, which we do right now. But keep in mind,” he warned, “We’re a lot more serious about playing hockey than the local beer-can team, so we practice four times a week.” He smiled. “Anyway, I’m the unofficial captain, and I’m called Keppy. I can see that you’ve played hockey a lot before. What’s your nickname?”

“Oh, my old teammates would usually call me ‘Parse’ or ‘Parser’; my last name’s Parson,” Kent said, putting out his hand to shake.

“What.” Keppy froze, leaving Kent’s hand in the air. “Wait, you’re Kent Parson? Of the Las Vegas Aces?”

_Damnit,_ he thought as he awkwardly put his hand down. “Uh, yeah? Is that a problem? If it is, that’s cool; no hard feelings, I can look for another team,” Kent hesitantly said.

“No! No way, you’re one of the best hockey players of your generation! Holy cow, maybe you should be captain instead! Please join us, there’s so much we can learn from you!” Keppy gesticulated, grabbing Kent’s hand, shaking it wildly.

“Um, thanks? Let’s see how I can fit with your team, yeah?” He added, “Oh, and uh, would it be cool if we ask the team not to tell anyone on social media I'm here, yet? Not until after the beginning of December; the article where I’ll be, um, officially out will be released at that point, yeah?” Kent uncertainly asked.

“Of course! Of course!” grinned Keppy. “This’ll be great!”

After meeting the team, that evening’s practice _was_ great, as Keppy predicted. The team was good, much better than an amateur group normally was. At first, a couple players were starstruck until practice began in earnest. After warm-ups, Kent couldn’t help but skate to individuals to help correct them or give tidbits of advice; “Hey, if you practice holding your stick like this, you’ll have better control over the puck” or “When you shoot towards the net, aim for that corner”. As he worked with a pair of D-Men, Keppy came over, grinning.

“Thanks for your help! You sure you don’t want to be captain? You’re already leading us! Hey, maybe we can share the position together!” he enthused.

“Woah, woah there, Keppy,” said one of the D-Men. “Give Parser some room, this is just his first practice.” He turned to Kent. “Name’s Eric Bowman, but everyone here calls me Bowie. This here’s Henry Eisenberg, and he’s known as Berger,” shaking his hand. “Thanks for the tips, by the way. Hey Kep, let’s play a game!” as he talked to the captain.

And they did, splitting the team into two with Kent heading one and Keppy the other. Kent’s team won, but it was a close score, 3-2. As they all shook hands and chirped each other, Kent couldn’t stop grinning.

_This was really fun. I need to keep doing this._

He smiled at Keppy, and asked, “So, can I join you guys?” Keppy responded with as huge a grin as Kent’s, “Heck to the yeah! Welcome to the San Francisco Hustlers, Kent Parson!” as the rest of the team cheered.

 

 

 

It had been almost a week since he joined the Hustlers. He attended all the practice sessions, and the rest of the team warmly let him in their close-knit camaraderie. They didn’t ask about the events that led to his retirement, nor did they inquire about anything related to Zimmermann, most likely because of Keppy warning them off.

It was a relief for Kent to play hockey and not worry about the garbage that ended up tainting his time with the league. After one vigorous and laugh-ridden game, he realized: _It’s been ages, maybe even before the Q, that I played hockey just for the sheer enjoyment of the sport. It’s been too long._

On Thanksgiving Day, he decided to go to a practice. Jack and Ed had hosted a Japanese-Mexican hybridized version of the traditional meal earlier that day. ( _The sweet potatoes glazed in that teriyaki sauce were killer; and I loved the turkey tacos with the spicy cranberry salsa. Damn, that was the best Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had.)_ It was just Kent, Seth and the hosts; everyone else was out of town with their blood-related families. Kent had fun and was invited to stay the night; but he wanted to burn some of the excess calories he consumed, and begged off, intending on at least getting some serious skating done as he didn’t expect many people to attend.

As he arrived early, he found that he was alone except for one other player, a slight, quiet person that Kent saw occasionally during practices. “Uh, Bob? Um, sorry, I’m bad with names,” Kent apologized as he skated over.

“Oh no problems! My name’s Ben Rhee, but people call me Benjy!” he enthused.

While Kent had met Benjy before, but he didn’t really pay attention to him until now: he looked worn out. Benjy was young, younger than the other guys on the team. He wore a raggedy jersey, and his gear was threadbare; his skates looked like they should have been replaced a long time ago. His hair was thin, overgrown, scraggly and greasy. The more disturbing observation to Kent, however, was how thin he was. He could see how much Ben’s collarbones poked out. His face was sunken in. While his pads masked how skeletal he was, Kent could see how dangerously skinny Ben was.

“Um, you can call me Parse or Parser,” he said. He continued, “Uh, tell me to back off if I’m being out of line, but are you okay? You look, um, like you need a good meal or ten.” _Way to go, asshole,_ he berated himself. _Aparna_ really _needs to teach me how to be more sympathetic and shit._

However, Benjy looked panicked rather than offended. “Um, no! No, I’m fine! I’m eating a lot, I’m just going through a growth spurt! Ha ha, I just turned eighteen so I’m just, uh, everything’s fine!”

Before Kent could respond, he heard Kep holler, “What are you two doing here? It’s Thanksgiving! Don’t you have other places to be?” he joked.

Benjy obviously relieved at Kep's interruption, yelled back, “Well, what about you?” He skated over to Keppy, and somehow avoided talking to Kent alone for the rest of their practice.

Afterward, Kent went to Keppy, who was picking up the pucks on the ice, while Ben was showering and blatantly asked, “What’s up with Benjy?”

Keppy’s ever-present grin disappeared and was replaced by a frown. “What do you mean?”

Kent said, “Kep, he looks, uh – he looks like he’s not getting enough to eat. He’s skeletal. And his stuff, his gear all needs to be replaced. Uh, Kep, he looks like um, he’s really not in a good way right now.”

Kep sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Parse, you’re right. I’m helping him as much as I can, but…” as his voice trailed, he looked thoughtful. “Hey, you mentioned to me once that you’re working on an organization to help homeless teens?” After Kent’s nod, Keppy added, “Do you have anything you need to do tonight? I think you _can_ help.”

 

 

 

“Keppy, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” Benjy ashamedly looked down at his shoes when Kep and Kent cornered him after his shower.

“Nope. I promised I would help you as much as I can.” Kep’s voice softened. “I swear that Parse’ll be able to help you more than I ever could.” As Benjy hesitated, he continued, “If Parser can’t, I’ll still continue to help. And besides,” he added, “I didn’t tell him what’s going on. That’s for you to share, son,” Kep smiled gently.

After a silent minute, Benjy said, “Okay, you can’t tell anyone. Besides, since I’m eighteen, I’m legally an adult so there’s nothing you really can do.” After Kent said okay, Benjy sighed. “Okay, I’m actually from Cupertino. I’m a senior in high school, and I’m still going there but I’m staying at a cousin’s apartment in the City. I just commute from his place to my school everyday, but it’s hard because of traffic and homework and hockey and stuff.”

Kent again nodded. He knew that, because Bay Area traffic was hell, it could take two hours just to get to San Jose from the City in the middle of rush hour.

Benjy breathed out. “The thing is, I was stupid. After Jack Zimmermann came out and told everyone that we could all play hockey, and we shouldn’t be afraid to play, I thought – uh, well, I’m the biggest idiot for believing him. Uh, it was mostly because I was so, so tired of hiding, and when Jack Zimmermann – MVP and winner of the Stanley Cup and famous and professional hockey player – when I saw that he came out and no one took away the Cup from him and he wasn’t kicked off his team and he was all right after he told everyone he's gay, I thought I could come out and everything would also be okay, too.”

Kent nodded. He started feeling sharp knives twisting in his gut.

Benjy grimaced. “So I came out. And my parents – um, my parents kicked me out of their house.  The thing is, um, I’m 1.5 gen Korean; we came to the States when I was three. I’m the oldest son. My parents… uh, my mom and dad expected a lot out of me. Being gay was a huge disappointment to them. Since I have a younger brother, I figure that they’ll disinherit me and have him take over the familial duties.”

He exhaled. “They only let me play hockey when I promised that I would keep my grades up. I also told them that it would look good on college applications. And it does; I already applied to a bunch of NCAA universities back east and I think I have a chance at getting in. And I know I’m not bad at hockey. So maybe I can get a hockey scholarship or at worst, get student loans while working part-time in school.”

Again, Kent silently nodded. _I don’t know what to say,_ as the knives in his gut continued to stab.

Benjy wearily added, “Basically, I only have to get through this year. I just need to graduate high school with okay grades. My cousin lets me stay at his place, but I need to get my own food and gas and other stuff. Um, money’s pretty tight, and I can’t get a job. Uh, I can’t afford a cell phone, but my cousin’s place doesn’t have a landline and – um, it’s really, really hard to get a job without a phone for the place of employment to be able to call.”

Benjy looked down, gazing at his shoes as he kicked his bag at his feet.

_I need to do something. Fuck this all. I’m going to help Benjy and he’s not just going to ‘get by’. He’s going to fucking thrive,_ Kent thought, almost viciously, as a plan started to form. “Benjy… Ben,” Kent started. “I have a former teammate who’s now with the San Jose Sharks. We’re on good terms, and San Jose’s a helluva lot closer to Cupertino than San Francisco, right?” After Benjy nodded, jaw dropped, Kent added, “Let me call him, but I’m 99% sure that he’ll have an extra room for you; he always takes in rookies. And we’ll talk about your finances after we get you settled in his place.”

 

 

 

After Kent called Jared “Red” Robinson and explained the situation (“Sure, Parse! You know I always have room for the young ‘uns!”) they drove down to Red’s place. Keppy decided to tag along; “I want to make sure Benjy’s okay,” he explained. In a lower voice, he added, “I made sure to give him food and money. I wish I could’ve given him more, but on a piddly high school teacher’s salary in the Bay area I was only able to give so much.”

Kent and Red discussed who would provide for Benjy financially. It was agreed that, in exchange for room and board, cell phone, gas money and a small allowance, Ben would make dinners, keep the common areas of the house clean, and volunteer with the junior Sharks team every weekend. If Benjy decided to stay in the Valley, or didn’t get accepted to the colleges back east, Kent would provide a job for him with his foundation. Kent also insisted on replacing his hockey equipment and skates (“Dude, you’re too good a hockey player to be using these things; they’re holding you back,” he explained); and KPF would pay for Benjy’s college tuition ( _I’ll make Shannon and Liz create a scholarship fund somehow, damnit_ ).

Kent had planned on starting a KPF branch in the City. However, when Benjy heard that, he said, “Well, uh, you can. But there’s already a teen homeless center there. There’s really nothing in the Valley itself. Why not start something here?”

Red added, “And I can talk with the Sharks’ GM to help with all that, if you want or need extra publicity and shit. He’s really cool, and I bet that he would want to get us involved somehow, too.”

He shrugged as he continued, “I don’t know what kind of fucked up shit the Aces did to you, but most of us Sharks aren’t like that; we’re fucking supportive assholes. Besides,” he grinned, “You saved my ass more than enough times when I was a rookie. I owe you, like, a bunch,” as he lightly punched Kent’s arm.

_Huh. Food for thought. And getting hockey involved with the foundation? I’ll need to ask the KPF team if that’s a good idea,_ he pondered.

_And Benjy’s safe, now. But god – how many kids are out there that are in his position? Are they safe? I’ve gotta help them. I’m going to, damnit._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent writes a letter and lets go.

Kent had continued his sessions with Aparna. Because of time, they cut back to once or twice a week, depending on his schedule and needs; even so, he knew that her help helped him incalculably with the hectic pace his life had become. While he texted daily with his friends and Tim, Aparna ended up being the stable, strong rock from the whirlwind that was last month.

He needed to go back to Vegas soon. Tim went back to work, so Kent had a couple of days free. He let his thoughts drift to Ben. Kent had called him a couple of times, making sure he was adjusting well to his new environment. He also talked with Red to see if Ben needed more help like therapy. So far, Red thought Benjy was doing well, and it seemed they both liked each other’s company. (“Damn, Parse – Benjy can make homemade kimchi. It’s hella good. And he showed me that hot dogs and rice are a really awesome combo. Even better is KFC and kimchi. Dude can cook really well and I kinda feel bad because I feel like I’m getting the better end of the deal.”)

_I’m procrastinating._ He frowned.

Kent currently sat in front of a rickety table at his favorite café. A couple of minutes ago, he gave Miss Trixie a hug (“Sugar, I haven’t seen you in a while! It’s good to see you, sweetheart!”) and stuffed an apologetic $100 in the barista’s tip jar when he arrived after he paid for his order and the ongoing tab he had created for Miss Trixie. Now, as he sat, he looked at his blank piece of paper and a small box next to it.

A week ago, during a session with Aparna, he endlessly bitched about Zimms and how Kent wanted to just _let the past go_ , (“It’s been seven fucking years, for chrissakes, why can’t I let him go?”). She suggested that he write a letter to him, a note saying all the things Kent wanted to say to him, but for various reasons, wasn’t able to, and more importantly, for Kent to be able to say goodbye.

So here he was at his favorite cafe. With this very blank piece of paper in front of him. In the box next to the paper were things that he wanted to return to Zimms; while Jack probably wouldn’t care and would probably throw them away, he had hopelessly hung on to them, these little scraps of Zimms that at one point in his life, had meant the world to Kent.

Kent thought of the Rimouski jersey that he stole from Jack, now folded neatly in the box. _I slept with the damn thing every night during my first year with the Aces._ He remembered the Fleetwood Mac CD that Zimms bought for him when he discovered, horrified, that Kent had never heard of the band; now, it was nestled safely amongst the jersey. _I had that damn Landslide song on repeat way too many times._ He looked at the little scraps of paper, small notes of encouragement (“You’re fast, use that to your advantage!” or “You have soft hands, don’t forget it!” or a simple smiley face when Kent was more discouraged than usual). Zimms wrote and left them in Kent’s gear bag for him to discover on his own, back when Kent was just a small, skinny runt with secondhand gear and a driven, enormous fear that he wasn’t going to make the league, as they first began their hockey journey together. They were now scattered on top of the items, like dried petals – inconsequential little slips that most would consider trash. Somehow, Kent kept all of them, holding them close, especially when a lifetime later, Jack only looked at him with blank disgust, which eventually turned to into impersonal indifference.

_Yeah. Aparna’s right as usual. It’s time for me to say goodbye._

 

 

_Hey Zimms,_

_Yeah, yeah, I know I promised I’d leave you alone. And I did; I deleted your contact info, so that’s why I’m sending this to Bad Bob’s house since I don’t have your address. My therapist is making me write this. (She actually “suggested” but that’s her way of saying, “Do. This. Now.” Since she’s helping me be a better person, who am I to disagree with her?) Hell, I half expect you to just toss the box and this letter, unopened, in the garbage, which is fine._

_First things first: I want to apologize for  what I said to you that second time I showed up at your school. My excuse is that I snapped, but I know that’s fucking lame and no matter how I felt, I shouldn’t have said those things. I purposefully said things that I knew would hurt you most. That was massively fucked up and I know an apology isn’t really going to cut it. Still, you deserve one from me, at the very least._

_Bob and Alicia love you so much. They know you are your own person, not another copy of Bad Bob. Your dad would’ve been happy and proud of you even if you decided to quit hockey. He never wanted anyone but you as his son, and he never would have abandoned you, no matter what. You had no reason to be jealous of me, because they never wanted me as a son. After your OD, they completely ditched me. When I was first in the Aces, I called them a lot, not just to see how you were doing, but also because I kinda thought of them like the mom and dad I never had. They finally told me that they were busy, focusing on you, and that if I needed help, to give my mom a call and to leave them alone. I stopped calling them._

_So Jack, your fear that Bob wanted me over you as a son is wrong. He never wanted me, ever. If you still think he doesn’t love you, well – you’re wrong._

_I’m also sorry I invaded in your safe space at your school. Even though it would’ve been difficult, I should’ve found another way to get in touch with you. Hell, I should’ve at least texted you before I arrived at your frat house._

_I also apologize that I called your hockey team shitty; to be honest, though, they’re not as good as an NHL team, and they were below your ability level. I should’ve been more tactful though._

_And now for the main reason why I’m writing this to you. This is a goodbye letter. The thing is, it’s been 7 years. 7 long years and man, I gotta let you go. I don’t know if you remember this – you probably don’t because you were so fucked out of your head back then – but once, after a bad episode, you were barfing because you drank way too much, and you were taking way too many of your pills that you were popping in like Tic Tacs. (I sincerely hope you’re not doing that anymore. You probably aren’t, since that’s why you were in rehab.)_

_On this one particular night, I was in the bathroom with you as usual, making sure you were all right, rubbing your back, getting water for you to swish your mouth out, wiping your face with a washcloth, bringing Gatorade and making you take small sips. Anyway, in the middle of doing all that, you grabbed onto my wrists. Tight._

_You probably don’t remember. Anyway, you grabbed my wrists so hard that I had bruises the next day (you asked why I had them during practice, so yeah – you don’t remember). And then you mumbled something. You were so, so fucked up that night, Jack, so it was hard for you to speak clearly. You repeated what you said after I asked you. Do you remember what you said? I do. I will never, ever forget what you said to me._

_You asked me, so so sadly, “Why can’t I ever be as good as Papa was at hockey? He’s just going to leave me because I’m not as good as he wants me to be. Everyone’s going to leave, even you, especially you, after the Draft. You’re going to get better than me, and then you’ll leave me behind. Crisse, I’m so alone. Why isn’t there anyone for me?”_

_It broke my heart, how much you believed that, so I replied back, “No, no I won’t leave you, Zimms, even after the Draft! I’ll always be there for you. Even when we’re on different teams, I’ll be there for you, and I’ll make sure we get on the same team someday. I promise.”_

_Zimms, I was so in love with you. Hell, no matter what happens, a part of me will always be in love with you. You were my everything back then and for a long time afterwards, even when I was with the Aces._

_So I promised myself that night. I swore to myself that I would never,_ ever _leave you._

_Even when you ghosted me and after your parents told me to leave you alone and that we were done. Even when you kicked me out of your frat house the first time when I just wanted to share the Cup with you – we promised each other that we’d share our Cup Day together, but you probably forgot that, too. Despite all that, I kept up my part of my vow. I was going to be there for you, damnit, come hell or high water._

_But Zimms – it was lonely. It’s hard to love someone who despises you. But I tried. I tried so goddamn hard to keep my promise._

_When I heard that you were finally looking to sign for a team, I went to the Aces’ management and made them agree to clear cap space for you. I talked up your abilities, even though you were coming from the easier NCAA. You were going to play the first line. We were going to be Zimms and Parse, Parse and Zimms, together again, just like I promised you._

_But when I saw you at your frat house, looking at that blonde kid the way you used to look at me. When you didn’t respond to my “Didja miss me” with that sly grin you always gave whenever I said that to you (you’re the only person I’ve ever said that to, that was_ special _, something between only you and me). When you blew me off after I told you how much I missed you. I exploded and ended up saying a lot of fucked up things._

_All those years of trying so goddamn hard to love you forever, to make sure you knew I’ll never leave you. Only to see that you didn’t give a good goddamn about me and my efforts at all._

_I realized that the Zimms I made that promise to was gone and had died back in that bathroom before the Draft. Zimms is the sweet, awkward boy who I fell in love with, back in the Q. Jack Zimmermann is a stranger, someone I don’t know._

_So Zimms – Zimms. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t keep my promise. But I realized that night at your frat house that I needed to let you go, because if I didn’t, then I was eventually going to end up like you, in a bathroom with a shitload of pills and booze, dead, but with no one to revive me like I did for you._

_I deserve more from life than that._

 

_Oh, by the way, I’m still angry at you for outing me without any warning. A phone call or even a lousy text would’ve been nice, dumbass. That was completely fucked up. But I’m not going to hold onto that. Honestly, it’s not worth stewing over anymore._

_I’m also fucking pissed off at what little you’ve done to help the teenaged victims of your lame-ass “Don’t be afraid” shit. (I met one of your victims, who’s a super bright and really cool guy. I’m lucky that I was able to help him before things went to hell for him.) But then, the asshole who decided not to be a role model for the LGBT+ population is the Jack Zimmermann douchebag who I don’t know, nor someone I care to know. And anyway, I’m using that anger to fuel the launch of my foundation and help other teens. So at least you did one thing that was useful. I guess._

 

_Anyway, Jack, I’m giving back your things that I’ve held onto for the past 7 years. I used to need them, especially during bad times, but now, they’re not necessary anymore. I said that you’ve changed from Zimms to Jack Zimmermann. But maybe I have, too, and I’m not Kenny anymore, but Kent Parson now. Hopefully I’m a better person. My friends say that I am. My boyfriend and new bros think I’m pretty cool, so I’m going to trust them and their judgement._

_Goodbye, Zimms. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you more, back at the Q. I’m sorry I have to let you go and that I didn’t keep my promise. But – Zimms, I really think that you’d be proud of who I’m turning into, so maybe it’s all okay, anyway._

_Goodbye. Take care._

_Kenny._

 

 

_God, I’m such a dumb ass._

When Aparna explained that she didn’t mean for him to mail the letter (“It was symbolic, Kent, I didn’t mean for it to be sent”) he felt like smacking his head against the wall. _Dumb. Ass. Dumb. Ass. Argh._

At the same time, he couldn’t regret sending it. After he dropped the package off to UPS with the enclosed letter, mailed to Bob and Alicia’s house, he felt… free. Sad as well; that night, he cried in his apartment, alone, sobbing big ugly tears.

And yet, he didn’t feel like he was spiraling. He felt like he was freeing the ancient dreams and wishes that he had kept, clinging them tightly to his chest until they cut into his heart; and yes, it hurt, but he was finally _letting them go_. He was free. He was sad for the loss of Zimms, but he was finally, finally able, after all these many long years, to properly grieve for the loss of that bright-eyed, softly sweet boy, _his_ boy, who murmured “Kenny” with so much gentle love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I originally had another chapter, but deleted most of it and stuck the remainder to Chapter 12.   
> \- And that's it for Kent! I'll start the second part -- Eric's -- but I realized that I need to add and edit the heck out of that one so I may not be able to post chapters as quickly as I did for Kent's story.   
> \- I know absolutely nothing about hockey. I'm probably very wrong about the way the teams are set up to play against each other, and when the season actually ends.   
> \- Again, thank you all for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate it. :)

Kent was back in Vegas, having arrived for his regular KPF meeting, which included Shannon and Liz.

At the start of the meeting, he began. “Okay, Julian, my old agent, called me this morning. Things are a helluva lot worse. Is there any way to speed up the official opening of KPF?”

“Woah, woah, what happened, Parson?” asked Liz.

Kent explained succinctly. There had been a couple of teenaged deaths – one, a successful suicide; the other, from massive trauma by a friend of the family who physically assaulted the victim after finding out he was gay. However, they were covered up with an iron-clad NDA, signed after receiving substantial donations from both Bad Bob Zimmermann’s foundation as the NHL itself.

“Wait, wait – holy shit. Is it confirmed that it’s because Jack Zimmermann coming out caused this somehow?” asked Liz.

“Yep. Suicide letter explicitly stated that he was inspired by Jack and so he came out, but parents were very unsupportive and school authorities looked the other way when he was bullied for being gay. As for the assault – a close friend of the victim said that he also came out because of Zimmermann, and was becoming afraid of the dad’s friend, who was getting more and more threatening after he found out the kid was gay,” grimly answered Kent.

“What happened to that guy?” asked Shannon.

“Arrested, pled guilty, got twenty years, chance of parole after ten.” Kent glared at the table as he spoke.

After silence, Kent spoke up. “Okay, so now we know that the league and the Zimmermanns are going to hide any negative shit as much as they can. We have to step up for these kids as soon as we’re able to. What can we do now, and how are we going to do it?”

After six long hours of talking, strategizing, and arguing, they decided that the first thing they’d do was set up and staff a national hotline for LGBT+ teens and young adults over the winter holidays. They agreed to hold the next day yet another long meeting to hammer out the finer points and to cover long-term plans and goals.  

However, Shannon asked Kent to stay around as the others stood up to leave.

“Okay, Shannon, can you get straight to the point? I want to go home soon,” he said tiredly.

“No problem. Okay. The Aces heard about KPF. They want in. They want publicity with you to bolster their image. They also want you still associated with them, even if it’s not as a hockey player. They found out too late how many fans followed them only because of you. You in or not?” she stated, just as exhausted.

“Fuck, Shannon.” His jaw hit the floor. After grounding himself, clenching his fists, he added, “What do they want to do, specifically?” he asked.

“They want to make donations, publicly, to KPF. They want you to watch some of their hockey games and do some pre- and/or post-game interviews to show your Aces support. They want you to state, officially, that you retired on your own accord. They want you to go to their galas and events. They want to sell Kent Parson-related merch from their official website. Right now, they want anything that you can give. Hell, they’ll be happy with crumbs from you. The Aces aren’t doing very well, as I’m sure you know; they’re desperate to have you back in any way except as an actual hockey player,” Shannon laughed without amusement.

Kent rubbed his eyes. He felt old, weighed down by the hard news of today. “Shannon,” he answered. “What do you think would be best, as my PR agent and for KPF? Do I want to know?”

She frowned. “As your PR agent and for KPF, you need them as much as they need you. We need a lot of donations; we’ll need to figure out how to make money fast because frankly, what you want to do requires a helluva lot more than what we have right now. Once the Aces publicly make donations, I’m betting the other franchises will also give us money to look more inclusive and negate the bad publicity the League has had for the past season. And in terms of publicity, it’s free and wide-ranging; even though you’re retired, this is a nice, seamless transition for you to become the Gay Hockey Player role model.”

“But,” she added, “If you wanted to say ‘Fuck you’ to them and refuse, I can’t blame you. I don’t know the details, but Julian said they completely screwed you over. So honestly, it’s your call, and I’m not going to hassle you in whatever you decide.”

Kent smiled a little at her. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” He frowned and added, “But you already know what I’m going to decide, don’t you?”

She looked sad as she gravely replied, “Yeah, I know that you’ll agree to work with them since it’ll benefit KPF. But Parson -- even though you’re a pain in the ass most of the time, you sometimes need to think of yourself, too.”

He shrugged. “Nope. I’m a selfish bastard, honestly. I’ll feel bad if I don’t do anything to help these kids, so I just want a clear conscience. I mean, fuck -- some of them are dying, Shannon. Who wouldn’t feel guilty if they didn’t prevent their deaths?”

She looked even unhappier. “Kent, most people wouldn’t care. Look at the Zimmermanns and the league itself.” She sighed. “Honestly, and I’m only going to say this to you once, but I wish more people were like you; it’d make the world a better place.”

Kent gave her a tired little smirk. “Yeah, the world needs more Kent Parsons to cause you hell, yeah?” he chirped slyly.

Shannon gave a ghost of a grin. “That’d be my own hell if I had to handle multiple Parsons,” she chirped back, quietly.

They both gave each other grim smiles. It was a hell of a meeting.

 

 

 

Meeting with the Aces management was tense for them. The Aces PR, who were very verbal in their dislike for Kent back when he was an Ace, were forced to play nice. Kent just could not stop smirking at them. _I’m such an asshole. But fuck them. I bet they’re the ones who put together that fucking Morality Clause in that bullshit contract offer._ He had both Liz and Shannon metaphorically bust the Aces’ balls in the contract they wrote up.

They agreed on what kind of Kent Parson merch would be sold through the Aces, the number of home games he would attend, how often he’d volunteer with the Mini-Aces, which fundraisers and PR stunts he would do as well as the frequency of “You Can Play” videos he’d do with one of his Aces bros.

In addition, Parson would co-host a charity gala in the beginning of June when the season was done, where the Aces would officially donate $20 million dollars to KPF. Not only would some of the top brass at the NHL attend, so would the owner of the Aces, upper management, as well as the bigger movers and shakers in Las Vegas. It was to be _the_ event to attend, and the Aces would organize the gala. Shannon was pleased, as it exposed KPF to wealthy potential supporters as well give a boost to publicity.

In exchange for Kent’s willingness to connect his image with the franchise, the Aces would donate not only in June but also a year after that. They were to donate all the profits of any Kent Parson merch. They were to announce the hotline at every home game before it started, during any breaks, and after. Any photos, videos, or interviews done by the Aces of Parson would need to be approved by his team for publishing. They would revisit these agreements in a year, or earlier if there were conflicts that needed to be addressed.

Finally, Kent talked about mandatory and yearly Sensitivity Training for not only the team but also management. “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room. You guys forced me into retirement. That wasn’t cool. If I’m going to be your Gay Hockey Boy, you all will agree to having and attending the workshop. If you don’t agree we’re walking out and you’re on your own.”

_Because fuck them,_ he thought viciously. _I bet_ _there are other gay hockey players still in the closet right now. The least I can do is make the Aces a little better than the shit they are right now if they're ever traded to Vegas._

The Aces agreed.

 

 

 

Out! Magazine hit the newsstands at the beginning of December, shortly after Kent arrived in Vegas. The public response was enormous as Kent took center-stage in the news again. He let the PR staff take over his online accounts; the sheer volume of responses – mostly positive and some negative – was overwhelming.

He also got a text message from an unknown number that night.

_I’m sorry, too._

He could feel heart aching a little, like a fading bruise that he kept pressing into. His fingers were tempted to respond with poisoned vitriol, with sweet forgiveness, with indifferent banter. 

He took a deep breath, remembering what Aparna had said to him after he sent the letter.

_“Because of the complex, important influence of Jack in your past, you may feel strong, conflicting emotions if he enters even the periphery of your life. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that; in fact, with the tumultuous history the two of you had shared, I wouldn’t be surprised if it would take a while before you feel indifferent or uncaring towards him. However, the important fact now is that you have complete control of how you react to the emotions he stirs up in you, and in how much or how little you want those emotions to guide you.”_

After a couple of minutes, reflecting on Aparna’s wise words, he finally deleted the text. _No need to be tempted. Besides, I have other, more important things to worry about now and in the future. Zimms is only a part of my past, now._

 

 

 

It was Spring. Kent was on the plane, flying back to Las Vegas from San Francisco. He had been commuting regularly between the two cities. ( _I really racked up the frequent flyer points._ ) He loved San Francisco. Tim and Jack and Ed and Seth and Amy were there and the weekly dinners became calming times during his crazy-busy life. Plus, he liked the Hustlers and needed to play hockey in some form for his own mental health. He finally did buy a house, a tasteful Victorian in the City. While it was somewhat drafty ( _I guess Victorian houses tend to be?_ ) he and Kit adored it and gave up his apartment rental happily.

His plane finally landed. He was in Vegas to attend the last Aces game of the season, which was coincidentally against the Falconers. Since both teams failed spectacularly for their chances to be in the play-offs, it was essentially a throwaway game. Plus, he wanted to support the Aces. _Who knows if any of my bros will get traded after this season. And anyway, some of the other Aces did send nice texts to me after that Out! Magazine article._

While Kent waited for the plane’s doors to open, he thought of the past several months.

He thought of the hilarious “You Can Play” videos the Aces stipulated that he and his hockey bros created and uploaded back in winter. Since the franchise never specified that they had to make them at the hockey rink, they ran around Vegas instead. They did one shoot at Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, commenting and posing with the different figures. His favorite video, however, was a very artistic ( _Well, I thought so,_ believed Kent) interpretive dance with Pinky and Scraps, all wearing pink tutus, while the water fountain show at the Bellagio served as a background. _Heh heh, both the Aces and KPF had a fit about that one. Still, it had the most views so far so they don’t know what they’re talking about,_ he mused.

Kent made sure to end both videos with, “Hey, I’m here for you. If you are ever in danger, whether physical, mental, or emotional, please give the hotline a call. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be safe.” After they both uploaded, there was a surge of desperate phone calls to the hotline, so he knew the message was working and reaching the desperate people who needed help.

As he finally got off the plane and walked to baggage claim, Kent also thought of KPF and how far it had already come. KPF officially opened a couple of months ago, a little after New Year’s Day. In the meantime, the hotline opened a little earlier at the end of December, as historically, the rates of depression would grow over the holiday break and they wanted to be available for the influx. (They pulled that through by the skin of their teeth. How they hired the qualified staff for the hotline, he didn’t know. He gave big bonuses to KPF management and HR.)

The party for KPF's official opening was small since the big gala with the Aces later in the year was to be the glamorous event. He invited his Aces bros as well as Jenn; and Tim, Jack and Ed were able to attend. (The others had concerts and performances for the holidays. Amy bitched plenty about missing the event: “Damnit, I’m stuck here, fucking playing the Handel _yet again_ while you all are going to a swankin' party! Goddamnit, it’s not _fair_.”)

Kent enjoyed watching the groups of his closest friends get to know each other. Besides the outrageous chirps about him, they all agreed to meet up somehow, during the summer. Swoops grabbed him for a private moment while Scraps regaled Tim and Ed with embarrassing stories.

“Hey, Parse,” Jeff started. “I wanted to tell you – um. When you decided to start KPF, I honestly thought it was a bad, bad idea. But – after reading your texts and talking to you on the phone and seeing you now – Parser. You look fantastic.” His eyes softened. “You look really happy, and I’m glad, Kent.”

Kent nudged Jeff’s shoulders. “Yeah, Swoops. I’m really happy with everything right now,” he answered. He shrugged. “I miss playing professional hockey – honestly, I think I always will – but in some ways, my life’s become better than before.” He looked Jeff squarely in the eye. “I also want to say ‘Thank you’. I wouldn’t have been able to have gone through the past year without your support. You really are my best friend. So – just, uh, thanks.” _Damn tears again. Why does Swoops always do this to me?_

Jeff nudged back. “Yeah, Parse. Anytime. I’ll always have your back.” He grinned, adding, “You may want to stop Scraps from telling that story about you trying to officially adopt Pinky when you were drunk. See, look?” he gestured to Scraps with his head.

“Oh, shit. Dude, Scraps! Scraps!” as Kent bounded over to cover his mouth. As everyone laughed, Kent felt the joy bubbling from him, even as he was protesting about. _I’m so goddamned lucky I have these people in my life. So, so lucky._

 

 

 

Kent scrolled through his Twitter account, waiting for Jenn at the Aces stadium, when he heard a “Yo, Kent!” He looked up. “Holy shit, Jacky-Bear, what are you doing here?” he yelled joyfully. Then he saw Amy, Ed, and Tim as well as Jenn beaming at him. “Hey! Hey!” as he got up and tried to hug all of them at once. “What the hell are you all doing here?”

Amy replied, smirking, “We figured that we should watch this hockey thing that you’re so enamored with. Since you came to one of my concerts -- although you were asleep by intermission, you luddite -- I figured I should reciprocate.”

“But Jack, are you alright being here?” Kent asked, knowing that he had to stick to a routine to help with Jack’s own PTSD and anxiety; change could sometimes trigger bouts of stress for him.

“Oh Kent, I’ll be fine. If not, Ed can help me, and Jenn said there’s a loading dock I can go to if I need quiet,” Jack smiled gently, keeping his arm around him and squeezing his shoulder gently, as they all started moving to the entrance of the stadium seats. Tim grinned happily and ruffled his hair before grabbing his free hand to hold.

As Amy, Tim, Jack, and Ed listened to Jenn rattle on about hockey and all the rules, Kent felt light. He felt as if his heart was too small, too quiet, for the warmth he had all around him. _Is this what it feels to be loved?_ he wondered _._ As he saw at the edge of his vision, Bob and Alicia Zimmermann and Jack’s boyfriend, he felt calm indifference towards them.

He continued walking on, surrounded by his people, his friends, his family. He found his home away from the rink. His heart finally felt whole. He belonged.

_I’m happy. Aparna, I am truly happy._


End file.
